


Practice & Theory

by synthetica



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Age Difference, Doctor/Patient, M/M, awkward clinical sex talk, kim doyoung's horrible self-induced disaster of a life, past doyoung/taeyong, the term 'sexual surrogate' means exactly what you think it means, why is tagging for this group such a nightmare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-13
Updated: 2017-01-25
Packaged: 2018-07-23 17:07:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 74,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7472115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/synthetica/pseuds/synthetica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Doyoung considers himself a moral person, he really does. He’d die before he’d say anything to anyone that a patient has told him in confidence, something that could trace back to them, or any details of a session. No exceptions, no slip-ups, no compromises. </p>
<p>But sometimes the rest makes him feel like he’s going to explode.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> General warning for content that majorly crosses professional and ethical boundaries, but that comes with the territory when the entire plot is, you know, the moral taboo of fostering a doctor/patient relationship. While it doesn't hit on anything too dark or serious, the fic does revolve around a sexuality-based therapeutic practice, so intimacy/emotional issues are a major focus.
> 
> The details of Doyoung & Co's practice are a mix of personal experience in the mental health system and bare-bones research, so there's obviously some... creative liberties in terms of the exact process. Sexual surrogate therapy is 100% real, though, and genuinely fascinating stuff. If you're interested in learning more, it's definitely worth a Google search or two. 
> 
> ~~There's 5 parts planned and the rating will inevitably go up somewhere along the line, for obvious reasons.~~ As of 1/25/2017, this fic is finished at 7 chapters with a rating that reflects the content! Thank you, and enjoy.

Doyoung’s clocked down four shots of espresso and a pot of black coffee for the day by the time he reaches the offices again after lunch, a new personal best.

Or worst. He can’t tell. Maybe it’s a little bit of both, because it took him an extra five minutes to write up the most mundane, routine insurance email of his life just from the shaking, but he doesn’t have any other coping skills left that he can trust to adequately prepare him for the afternoon other than dangerous over consumption of caffeine. So here he is.

Which makes him a hypocrite, absolutely, but he’s been at this for five years now. These appointments never get any easier or less nerve-wracking than the first, and he’d rather turn his veins into Starbucks dark roast than make that obvious on the surface. It’s better to sacrifice some sleep rather than pile his stress on someone gracing him with their time and money. Especially when said time and money is hinged on the hopes of his expertise being able to make something both horrifying and unspeakably awkward somehow seem as normal and routine as afternoon tea. Caffeine it is.

He feels terrible for praying they’ll be late, but that’s the Hail Mary he’s giving to his empty cartoon psychologists of the 20 th century mug. Like most requests, this one isn’t granted. The clock hits one, and the bell of the main lobby chimes followed by a brief shuffling of feet before both sounds grind to a halt, the universal sign for ‘lost newcomer’. A newcomer that is now, for the next sixty minutes, Doyoung’s responsibility. Time for guiding to proverbial lights, or whatever.

With his best professional smile pinned to his face, Doyoung counts down from three, opens the door, and turns the corner into the waiting room. It’s empty aside from a lone, young man on the couch up against the window, shoulders squared and gaze set off somewhere to the side near the water cooler. One of the single-serve paper cups is full in his hand, though he makes no move to drink it.

He looks up at the sound of his footsteps, and Doyoung’s hand twitches, because the nerves are back and surging like never before. But it  _ can’t _ be, so he smiles wider, looking somewhere over his newest client’s shoulder. “You must be Yunoh?”

The corners of his mouth pull up, unsure, but with a hint of something resembling warmth. “Please, call me Jaehyun. Everyone else does.”

“Absolutely.” Doyoung smothers the tinge of guilt that’s threatening to surface, because he sort of remembers something about that on the briefing Dr. Moon sent him, but he also pretty much just barely skimmed it. He doesn’t like to know too much before he can put a face and a story to it all. He crosses the room to stand at Jaehyun’s side, extending his hand. “Nice to meet you, Jaehyun. Dr. Kim Dongyoung.”

Jaehyun’s lips fall into a line, humming like he isn’t quite sure how else to react. His arm is stiff, and he bows as he stands, taking a small sip of his water. “Nice to meet you, too.” He hesitates, caught on the first consonant of his next words. “Dr. Kim.”

“Call me Doyoung,” he replies, adjusting the knot of his tie, his Adam’s apple brushing against his knuckle as he swallows to mask a cough. “Everyone else does. My office is just around the corner, feel free to grab a seat wherever you’d like.”

Jaehyun gives another small bow, following tightly in his shadow right outside his door until Doyoung emphasizes his words with a flourish, the boy (he has to be at least eighteen, but Doyoung blinks twice and from a certain angle he hardly looks any older) stepping in just far enough for Doyoung to flip the ‘please knock’ sign on the handle to ‘in session—do not disturb’ and swing it shut.

He expects Jaehyun to still be standing in the middle of the room looking vaguely lost, but Doyoung pivots on his heel and Jaehyun’s settling into the isolated armchair in the center of the room, the one Doyoung usually works from. He’s a little surprised, but not bothered. The couch is more comfortable, anyway. Jaehyun’s patient while he gathers his notepad and a single manila folder from his cabinet, masking any annoyance that might exist pretty damn well as Doyoung fumbles around for a pen. He reaches back for the folder first and takes his seat across from his newest client, crossing his legs with a snap.

Sticking his tongue out, he balances the tab on the side of his finger just long enough to scratch off the writing and put ‘Jung, Jaehyun’ in its place. He clears his throat and places his notepad on the opposite side of the single existing paper already in the file, the briefing from Dr. Moon, adding the date and time to the top of the blank sheet.  _ There. _ He’s as ready as he’ll ever be.

Doyoung folds his hands, takes a deep breath in, steadies his gaze, and begins. “I always like to start with some icebreakers, nothing too serious. I just think it’s helpful to know why the other person’s here, so you know I’m being transparent and I know a little bit of what you’re looking for. Does that sound good?”

Jaehyun clears his throat, and Doyoung still doesn’t look at him yet, not really. Instead, he lets his eyes glaze over just enough to blur him while seeming to fix on him, a time honored and true skill he utilizes liberally despite never thinking he’d need in university. “Sure, whatever you need to do.”

“I’ll start.” Doyoung clicks his pen and sets it down with a flick of his wrist that’s just as second nature as this monologue. He wipes his palms on the leather. “Let’s see here… I have a bachelors in neurology and a masters in clinical psychology from Yonsei. I’ve been practicing psychotherapy for about nine years now, including my residency. I started in hospitals, you know, like wards and that sort of thing. But I’ve found that this,” he gestures between them vaguely, flinching away from Jaehyun’s knitted eyebrows. “Is what I really love doing. I feel like it makes more of a difference, at least with where my strengths are.”

He pauses before he moves on, like he always does. It’s not a silence he expects to be filled, but Jaehyun shifts, cocking his head to the side with a nod, thoughtful. “I get it. It’s probably hard to work in a place where your work never seems to pay off.”

Doyoung cracks a smile at that, and he lets a tinge of bitterness show, because it’d be condescending to try to hide his reaction when Jaehyun just revealed he’s astute enough to give that observation in the first place.  _ Exactly, that’s exactly it _ . “I just never felt like I knew anyone I saw. Private practice allows for a better relationship between doctor and patient.”

“Right. That would be your thing.” There isn’t any judgement behind that, just a statement. Doyoung runs an open hand down the length of his thigh, hard. He makes a mental note to turn up the air conditioner when he’s done.

“I did specialize in relationship therapy, at first,” Doyoung admits, pretending to write down something on his notepad that’s more than just a vague squiggle of distress. In the breath before his next sentence, he decides to just set it down. “But I started to feel like a lot of what I was seeing couldn’t be addressed in that framework. I did some research on my options, and this is what ended up making sense to me. It’s what I feel I can best provide, what I think is important.”

He pauses again, but Jaehyun is quiet this time, attentive. Doyoung shrugs to himself and moves on. “I got my license about five years ago, and it’s been the full-time focus of my practice since I’ve been at this office. In terms of expertise, I’m…”

“The best qualified sex therapist in the Seoul metro area,” Jaehyun finishes, blinking up at him. Doyoung tries so, so hard not to be obvious about staring straight at his shoes. “I know. It’s all on your website. You got your Ph.D. from Seoul National last year. I did my research.”

“I just think it’s fair you hear it from me,” Doyoung frowns. He leaves his website maintenance to Mark the Grad Student 9 times out of 10, on account of Doyoung hardly being able to figure out how to turn on his iPhone without needing professional assistance. “I’m glad you did, though. Do your research, I mean. That’s smart. But that’s not really what I was trying to say.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Jaehyun leans back, pulling at the sleeve of his hoodie. “Sorry. Go ahead.”

Something hot and heavy drops in Doyoung’s gut but he swallows it back, because he’s memorized this part too. Just another line in his script. He can do this. He’s a professional. It’s all work, and there’s nothing more or less that he’s responsible for other than the facts. It’s not his problem how Jaehyun takes it from there, nor is it his personal concern. It’s not.  _ It’s not _ . “In terms of expertise, I prefer to disclose what I can provide up front and let you decide what fits best for you as we discuss your goals. Does that sound fair?”

Jaehyun considers this, shifting his legs. “Alright.”

Doyoung leans an elbow on his knee, spreading his fingers across his cheek and he finally, finally forces himself to look Jaehyun in the eye. He just has to take the plunge before he can catch something in his throat and blow it. “I prefer dialectical behavioral therapy as a framework. My background in relational counseling is a bit more diverse, so it’s become kind of a mess of things over the years. I tend to play it by ear and design the approach based off what you respond to rather than label it. If your concerns are more physical in the scientific sense, I don’t have a background in it. You’re better off with Dr. Nakamoto. He does a lot of what I do but more… technical. You know?”

“Yeah, he was an option, too.” Jaehyun pushes a lock of hair behind his ear, and Doyoung squashes down every single coherent thought that isn’t a list of his credentials so hard it made his head spin. “I liked the sound of you better.”

“I think I’m a little easier to talk to,” Doyoung shrugs, letting a smile drift across his face before falling neutral again. “The main difference is that I take a more experimental approach. My sessions tend to be more indirect, and a lot more informal. I’m not the ‘lie on the couch and tell me how this makes you  _ feel _ ’ type. I’ve always found that sort of thing plays out boring and dry, no offense, so my methodology is by default way more active and hands-on. But if just talking it out is what you end up really liking, that’s awesome. The most important part of my job is finding what works for you, but it’s my legal obligation to disclose my full boundaries. As I’m sure you know, I’m also licensed in sexual surrogate therapy.”

Jaehyun’s voice tightens, words hitching the second he opens his mouth. Doyoung closes his eyes, only reopening them after he’s accepted that. “I know. Taeil told me all the details.”

“No one is going to force you to use it, especially not me. But it’s on the table.” Doyoung reaches for his notepad, fingers slipping over the pen and damn it, why does he always forget to fix the air before these things? “The only thing I want to know is if it’s going to be a treatment path you’re interested in exploring.”

A thick, tangible silence follows. Jaehyun uncrosses his legs while Doyoung forces his back straight and shoulders open. Professional. Calm. Jaehyun’s reply is quiet, but steady. “I’m not sure yet.”

“That’s fine.” Doyoung has no idea how he feels about that as a person, but he never lets himself think about it long enough to decide. He just writes down the answer, neutral. “You don’t have to make that decision now, and you can change it at any time. You define and control your boundaries, always.”

“Thank you.” He seems genuinely grateful, and his face lights up just a few degrees, a little bit of life returning and coloring his ears. Good. That means Doyoung’s doing something right. He turns his shoulders in like he wants to say something, so Doyoung lets him, patient. “I never know what to say about myself. I never seem to say what you people really want.”

Doyoung scrunches his eyebrows together, leaning forward. “The only thing I want is what you feel comfortable telling me. I mean, it’d be helpful to know why you asked for this referral, or what you think you want out of this, or the role you want me to take on. But if that’s not here today, that’s fine. It really is. You can tell me about your day, what your hobbies are. There’s always time later to get to the deeper questions. If you want it.”

“I finished my graduate degree last May.” Jaehyun begins, voice gaining strength the more he speaks and in it there’s that sliver of hope, that Doyoung might be able to see enough of him to help. He clings to it, writing down the cliff notes of everything he hears. “I’m in the middle of an internship in sound production right now, but my goal is to be a songwriter. I’ve been seeing Taeil for about half a year. My ex sort of forced the issue.”

“But you stuck with it.” Doyoung offers, jotting an extra note about that. “Good. That’s good.”

“Yeah, I guess I did.” Jaehyun repeats, like it’s the first time he’s really processed that. Something about him looks so innocent and Doyoung’s chest tugs, hard. He listens, taking in the pink on his cheeks and the reflection of the office lights off his eyes until he can’t look anywhere else but down at his paper again. “I mean, there was a point to it. It’s helped. I see Dr. Ji for psychiatry too, upstairs.”

“Taeil still thinks you need me, though.” He scans the file again, but he can’t make his eyes focus enough to actually read it yet, hand still hovering over the notepad when he realizes Jaehyun’s scratching at the back of his neck, quiet. “Or was it the other way around?”

“Mm. The latter,” Jaehyun clarifies, lowering his voice. Doyoung leans in until he’s on the edge of the cushion. “A combination of both, but mostly that. I told him what I wanted, Taeil told me what my options were, and your name came up. He said you don’t take new clients often, so I was surprised you agreed.”

“I don’t,” Doyoung replies, matter of fact. He almost rejected Taeil’s referral call, and probably would have had it not been for his colleague’s strongly worded email suggesting he give the boy some of his time. That if nothing else, Jaehyun thought he could really help, and that alone was worth pursuing. “But I’ve already been convinced to take you on, so if you want a regular slot with me it won’t be an issue.”

“That was nice of him.” Jaehyun’s tone falls flat as he speaks, but Doyoung refuses to analyze it, at least not yet. “I’m surprised, though. It’s not like it’s even that important. Everyone has problems with intimacy.”

Doyoung considers this for a moment, and really, actually looks at Jaehyun for the first time since he walked into his office. He’s good-looking, attractive enough to write home about even, in a way that Doyoung has to admit to himself is contributing to his nerves no matter how much he wants to deny it. Just from his build, it’s a good bet he’s both decently athletic and decently popular—the combination of a bright disposition (the inherent, stifling awkwardness of an intake session aside) and charming, almost Western-styled handsomeness is the perfect mix to draw attention, especially in a campus setting.

Of course Doyoung’s drawn to him. It’d be beyond transparent if he tried to argue against that. There’s something about the poise and nerves and stitched-together eyebrows of the boy sitting in front of him that commands him in, daring him to learn more. To know his story. To be able to help. He wants nothing more than to help.

“To an extent,” Doyoung agrees with a hum, after he’s let Jaehyun’s words sit long enough in the air. “With everything, there’s a spectrum. Do you take a while to open up, or do you spend years in relationships where the other person has no idea who you are? Do you have more boundaries than most in bed, or do you flinch away from even light intimate touch? Are you open to the occasional casual fling, or do you use sex as a replacement for intimacy, running from anyone who wants more from you? It’s that sort of thing. Even if it’s minor in comparison, it’s still worth looking at improving. Things can always be easier. That’s why I’m here.”

“I don’t know how to be close.” It almost sounds like an impulse, the way he all but chokes on it as it tumbles out. Doyoung doesn’t write that down. For some reason he feels like he’ll remember it. “To anyone, not like this. I don’t think.”

“You don’t think.” Doyoung repeats, half as a question, but Jaehyun’s back to drinking his water and looking over at the fish tank Doyoung keeps in the corner of his room, where a clownfish he’s named Wendy passes by the front of the glass. Jaehyun smiles at it, and Doyoung smiles at Jaehyun. The silence isn’t as tense as it usually is at this part of the hour. It almost feels like a chance to breathe.

It’s several minutes before Jaehyun says anything again. Or maybe just a few seconds. It could be an hour for all Doyoung knows. But when the silence breaks, Jaehyun blinks behind thick eyelashes, holding himself up in a way that shows a strength and confidence Doyoung suspected, but hasn’t seen until now. It’s incredible. He’s quiet, but there’s a challenge in him, just a hint, and Doyoung thinks he feels one of his internal organs valiantly try to claw its way out of his throat. “Let’s pretend I said I was interested, how would this look? What would you do?”

Doyoung swallows past the sudden dryness in this throat, gently setting his folder and materials aside item by item. “I’d bring your chair in a little closer. Just a bit.”

Jaehyun hesitates, but after a beat he nods and stands up far enough to pull the armchair a foot or so closer in, folding his hands as he settles back down. They’re still a ways apart, but close enough now that Doyoung could reach out and touch his knee. If he’s inclined to. “The idea is to introduce intimacy, but slowly. No messing with the deep end. Even if you wanted to, I wouldn’t let you. I’d warn you about how it’s a long and awkward process, that it’s not supposed to come naturally. There’s a lot of ways we could go about it.”

“Like how?” Jaehyun says, and he looks so serious, so genuinely curious that Doyoung feels his pulse rise up and pound against his eardrums. He swallows it back with a cough.

“You could put your hand on mine, or my cheek.” Doyoung offers, and he has to bring himself back to where he’s only listening to himself talk, only reading out the itinerary of every other first-day session he’s done in the field and in training. He can’t stare at Jaehyun, can’t say any of it to Jaehyun, and he sure as hell can’t say any of it as himself. It’s all just words, from a doctor to a client. Easy. “Or if that’s too much, we could just sit with our knees touching. There’s no right or wrong way, it’s just about finding what you feel comfortable with and what you think you could work from as a starting point. I would want you to take risks, but I wouldn’t want you to do anything that feels wrong for you. Baby steps and all that.”

“I think I get what you mean.” Doyoung blinks, and Jaehyun’s reaching across the space between them, perched on the edge of the chair so he’s close enough to brush away a few strands of hair that frame Doyoung’s face and ghost a thumb across his cheekbone, purposeful. Doyoung jolts, but keeps any reaction he has shoved inside beyond rolling his shoulders back. He hitches a breath, fixing his eyes so Jaehyun’s face is a blur because Lord, he wasn’t ready. But he has to be, so he is. “Sort of like this?”

Doyoung swallows, nodding in lieu of a reply. His throat is sticky, but he somehow manages to force out his words, praying they don’t sound as unsteady as he feels. “Yeah, if that feels alright.” He hovers his hand over Jaehyun’s right leg, but he doesn’t feel the other boy’s eyes follow it. “May I?”

Jaehyun nods, and Doyoung lets his hand rest just above his knee, chaste and careful. He’s warm to the touch, the fabric of his jeans worn and seams frayed. In the background, a clock ticks, but all Doyoung registers are Jaehyun’s fingers spreading out over his face.

“It’d be something a little like this.”

 

 

Doyoung’s career is more or less an extension of the rest of his adult life before it, only now signed, stamped, and sealed with hundreds of training hours, a lot of incredibly uncomfortable workshops, and a really expensive, really time-consuming doctorate certificate to hang on his wall. IPSA approved and all.

Back when he was younger, he didn’t really know what to call it, and if he did it wouldn’t have been  _ therapy  _ by any stretch of the imagination. All the qualification he needed was a bottle of soju and his horrible life-long habit of taking in every stray that took advantage of Doyoung’s overall lack of boundaries and complete inability to say no.

_ I don’t want to graduate college a virgin _ . “Alright.”

_ I just went through the worst breakup of my life _ . “I’m sorry.”

_ I want my first time to be with someone I trust _ . “Of course.”

_ I can’t tell if I like men _ . “Okay.”

_ I want to be with you, but I don’t know if I can commit to anything else. _ “That’s fine.”

None of it was ever for him. But it seemed to do something for the other person, seemed to heal them just a bit and make whatever pain they were facing just a tiny bit more bearable than before. He likes to think he’s good at understanding what’s making people tick after all the masks and excuses are peeled away. At seeing what they really need beneath the outer layers of their words. Pun maybe intended.

A few fell for him along the way which, all things considered, was pretty good practice for a career in encouraging people to get intimately attached without a chance in hell of it ever being reciprocated. Even if it was equal parts painful and horrifically awkward at the time. All the ones that he felt for never liked him back, which was, in turn, also a situation he’s found himself in once or twice since. 

He only wound up forming an actual, real relationship from an arrangement like that once. It wasn’t the worst mistake he’s ever made in his life, but it cracks the top ten list easy. Top five depending on the day.

Granted, it was less that they’d started off having mid-thesis stress sex and more that he and Taeyong were a nightmare together romantically, but that’s neither here nor there. He still talks to Taeyong. A lot. Most days, in fact. Tellingly, he’s the first person Doyoung calls when he gets out of the office, his number dialed in before Doyoung can even unlock the car or throw off his tie.

They make plans for dinner in Itaewon around six, and when Doyoung arrives Taeyong is, predictably, already perched on one of the two-top, high-seated tables by the window, menu in hand and two glasses of water set. He’s as proper as always, ankles crossed and dress shirt still pressed flawlessly after a day’s work, impeccable down to the exact matching centimeter his sleeves are rolled up the length of his forearms just underneath the elbow.

Taeyong is--as he’s always been--picturesque, all sharp edges and soft corners. When he looks up with his wide, bright eyes, Doyoung remembers exactly why he fell in love with him in the first place.

“Ahh, late again, as always.” And exactly why he fell  _ out _ . 

Doyoung rolls his eyes, slinging his jacket over the back of his chair and taking a seat with a huff.

“By two minutes,” Doyoung protests, though he knows it’s futile. It’s a routine with them by now, like a script they read because they must even though they both’ve lost the feeling behind it years ago and only keep the show going out of obligation to nostalgia.

“You have no respect for other people’s time,” Taeyong chastises, but it’s appropriately soulless. “How’d that meeting go, by the way?”

Doyoung shrugs, suppressing a tinge of annoyance at that being the first question Taeyong has for him. “It went fine. They’ll be fine. Any more commentary is illegal, you know that.”

“Not asking for a play by play.” Taeyong replies with a shrug, greeting the waiter as he swings past their table. He waits until they’re alone again before he continues. “I just like to check in, remind you I pay attention to your life.”

Doyoung wants to snap that Taeyong pays way more attention to Doyoung’s own life than he does, but the point is that they both know that already, and he doesn’t want to waste his breath on it. Taeyong looks at him behind a long sip of his water, and Doyoung slouches, falling back a few strides in their little unspoken standoff. “Taeyong, come on.”

He never intended to sleep with Taeyong in the first place, which was the ultimate bitter, irony-scented cherry on top to the entire situation in retrospect. Taeyong found him first, which was strike one, crying on a bench around 2 AM in Myeongdong during the height of his dissertation and the rock bottom low of some of his own, more personal issues. Taeyong, even in looks alone, was everything Doyoung wasn’t, composed and enticing and beautiful, and Doyoung didn’t know what else to do with him but agree to his offer to follow him back to his studio apartment.

Sometimes Doyoung can fool himself into believing there wasn’t really ever an ‘arrangement’ between them at all. Maybe his views on relationships are so warped that he interprets every average half-baked, awkward affirmation of mutual attraction as just another favor to check off. But he really does know better, deep down. Taeyong would never say it, not in words, but what he needed was inspiration. More specifically, inspiration not derived from the weird, incestuous world of music production he understandably had very little interest in tangling himself up in the wrong way with.

There’s something so romantic about being someone’s muse, as long as there’s no false pretenses. Doyoung forgot that somewhere along the line, and that was the problem. It wasn’t anything Taeyong did wrong, it was just... their personalities. Taeyong cares so genuinely, so openly about every detail, Doyoung never stopped to consider that the romance of something so sincere could be secondary to the professional, or even the platonic. Maybe it could have worked if he’d accepted that sooner, but by the time he realized Taeyong loves other people the same way he loves dance or music, Doyoung had already fallen for a side of him that was never really his to claim.

He could have written the book on fucking yourself over, and another on why people like him probably shouldn’t date artists. Two years and nine months of emotional intensity, small-scale city loft cohabitation, really weird sex, and alternating belief that Taeyong was both the worst and best thing that had ever happened to him can be summed up in two words— _ never again _ .

It isn’t in the same way anymore, thank God, but he still loves Lee Taeyong with every bone in his weak, useless body. And  _ that’s _ reciprocated, whether either of them like it or not. They’re in it for life, because at the end of the day, Taeyong is his best friend.

Sometimes Doyoung thinks he might be legitimately addicted to suffering.

The way Taeyong’s looking at him now used to drive him up a damn wall when they were together, like he’s staring straight through him rather than seeing him as he’s actually there. As it stands, it mostly just makes him feel exhausted, knowing he can’t win. The only thing he can do is brace himself for Taeyong twisting his arm around every caveat of the Hippocratic oath with a smile on his lips, a Cheshire grin already half-hidden behind his glass of water.

Doyoung considers himself a moral person, he really does. He’d die before he’d say anything to anyone that a patient has told him in confidence, something that could trace back to them, or any details of a session. No exceptions, no slip-ups, no compromises. But sometimes the rest makes him feel like he’s going to explode. “They’re young. Really young. It’s weird to see anyone not at least a few years older than me.”

“Right, right,” Taeyong nods, attentive. For some reason, Doyoung’s craving a straight bottle of soju, but Taeyong never gets more than a shot, and for what it’s worth, he’s a good influence. He holds up the number two at whatever Taeyong orders to drink, and something light for dinner. Somehow, part of him feels uneasy. “You have that whole desperate housewives thing going on.”

“I’d like to consider the ‘midlife sexuality crisis’ referral my specialty, but yeah,” Doyoung shrugs, twirling a chopstick between his fingers absentmindedly. “There’s lots of people that benefit from something… out of the mainstream like this, but this one’s a little out of left field. In a good way, though, I think. Like a challenge.”

Taeyong raises an eyebrow and his lips part just a little, right at the exact moment dozens and dozens of lesser people have asked the inevitable and predictable question that always surfaces when an acquaintance learns just what a ‘surrogate sex therapist’ does for a living.  _ Are you ever attracted to them? _

But Taeyong doesn’t ask. Because Doyoung loves him, and part of the litmus test for his love is knowing what questions are both appropriate and worth his time, and when to sit down and shut up. But he’s only human, and Doyoung sees that spark of interest, the terms ‘young’ and ‘abnormal’ turning the gears and begging that obvious curiosity.

Normally, Doyoung would take pity on him and reward his politeness. But not with this. Instead, he glances out the window and pretends he doesn’t see it. Taeyong’s expression flickers at that, but if he has any commentary on it he keeps it to himself. “That’s good, then. A challenge is what you’ve been wanting, right?”

Taeyong speaks in his own special code, but Doyoung’s a practiced and fluent speaker. The implications of that are obvious--he’s not hiding his anxiety well enough.  _ Shit.  _ “It’s always hardest at the beginning, it’s nothing I can’t handle. I just hate not knowing what angle I’m going to take yet. But it’ll come together. It always does.”

“No pressure,” Taeyong sings, waving his chopsticks with a flourish. Doyoung mentally fills in the next part before Taeyong gets a chance to continue, and it makes him grind down on his molars. “You’re just changing lives.”

Doyoung’s certain he’s wrapping his tongue around an absolutely scathing and brilliant retort regarding the commercialized capitalist circle jerk that is Taeyong’s job at SM Entertainment, but whatever it is dies on in his lips, a glimpse of untamed brown hair over the other man’s shoulder ripping the thoughts from his brain and his internal organs out of his stomach. All that’s left is a controlled and not at all high-pitched noise from the back of his throat, deflating into a hushed, “Kill me.”

Which, naturally, is his own form of catch-all code for a variety of things, with its current utilization meant to convey, ‘ _ Someone not meant to be seen outside of my office just walked in and hand me that cocktail list, damn it, because I’m about to hide behind it for the next however long it takes to get out of this place’  _ in two syllables or less.

Taeyong manages to understand enough to slide one of the drink menus left on the table across to his side, but not quite enough to mirror Doyoung’s valiant attempts to hunch down and become one with the tabletop. He winces out a warning, but Taeyong remains oblivious, Doyoung’s failure to avert his eyes instead directing Taeyong’s curiosity back over his shoulder. By the time Doyoung catches up to the motion, it’s too late, Taeyong twisting around to match up his line of sight straight to perfect, irrefutable evidence that Doyoung exists for the sole purpose of cosmic mockery.

Jung Jaehyun.

Doyoung isn’t addicted to suffering, oh no. Suffering is addicted to him.

Jaehyun’s hunched over the hostess’ podium and half-obscured by another boy he entered with and the guitars strapped to their backs, but the side profile alone is enough to smash any doubt Doyoung has into a million tiny pieces before he can even properly entertain it. Of all the stops in Seoul, there his latest client is. Alive and in the flesh.

It’s too late before it even starts. Any hope Doyoung has of just turning away and pretending like he didn’t notice a thing is dashed the second Jaehyun catches the girl’s eyes with a smiles and oh, God, he didn’t see that in his office. Not by a long shot. Even from across the room, this Jaehyun and the one he met just a few hours ago are the same only in body. This Jaehyun has a smile that reaches the corners of his eyes and straight, broad shoulders with a glow that pulls the light and energy in the room in his direction, every inch of him emitting the sort of rare, natural charisma that can be felt from a mile away. This Jaehyun is brand new.

Nothing about the way he carries himself is small, scared, or unsure. Every inch of him is sleek, graceful, and as hard to look away from as a train wreck. It’s only when Jaehyun turns his eyes up towards the bulk of the lounge that Doyoung finally gets spooked enough to jerk back behind Taeyong, but what’s waiting there for him manages to be ten times worse.

Taeyong blinks, and Doyoung sees one thing and one thing only in that expression. “Hmm. So I was right.”

The weight and judgment of the very truth Doyoung has been trying to banish all day is heavy enough that neither of them needs to say it. Jung Jaehyun is really, seriously attractive.

Scratch everything before. The relationship between Doyoung and suffering is decidedly mutual. “What day is it?”

“Thursday,” Taeyong replies, in the same breath he seems to realize why Doyoung’s asking. They’ve been going to this particular lounge long enough and often enough to know the time-honored tradition of Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday live music hours, where the tables in back left corner fold down, a lifted stage and makeshift sound system pitched up in their place.

For the past few months, Thursdays had belonged to a couple of seriously talented undergraduate theory majors, but Taeyong’s persistent hounding had finally resulted in a shiny little corporate-funded contract deal a month or two ago. They’d been rotating out small startup acts ever since, but none had really stuck the crowd in the right way to keep their booking. Yet.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watches Jaehyun and the other boy make their way through the crowd and over to the back of the room. They trade words with the manager, and Jaehyun kneels down against the edge of the stage, gingerly snapping the hinges open on his beat-up leather case and pulling out an acoustic guitar, polished and clearly well cared for. Doyoung’s ribcage constricts in on itself.

“That’s really your new guy?” Taeyong whispers, like he hasn’t already missed the moment to be covert. “You’re right. He’s not someone I’d guess would be the type to call you up.”

Doyoung shrugs, figuring nothing else can better convey the existential dread he’s currently consumed with. The only reason Doyoung’s holding back from screaming for the check is the thin, flimsy knowledge that the stage lights create a blind spot in the corner they almost always claim on Taeyong’s insistence—a well known producer in the audience tends to make the acts a little nervous. But that’s the only reason. No morbid curiosity, no ulterior motive. If he repeats it to himself enough, it’ll end up true. It has to. He’ll leave the second they finish eating, making sure hell or high water Jaehyun won’t see it happen. That’s his plan, and he’s sticking to it.

Taeyong leans back, crossing his arms. “I can’t decide what’ll be more awkward for you—if he’s really bad or if he’s really good.”

Five minutes later, Doyoung is resisting the urge to strangle him for that comment.

In the moments that follow, he tries to focus on everything but Jaehyun and his companion setting up. Instead of watching his client,  _ oh God it’s his client _ , get ready to perform, he forces his attention on deciphering the heavily-accented conversation of some foreigners in the booth over, praying it’ll drown out the sound of their guitars tuning. The anxiety spreads to every cell like a wildfire, and by the time they’re ready, he’s chewing so loudly on his main course it’s only the mic quality that makes Jaehyun’s voice (even his tone is different, Jesus) ring out over the sound of his own teeth.

“Thanks for having us tonight,” he clears his throat, the chatter in the room continuing over him, but falling several decibels to a dull roar, allowing the words to carry. “My name’s Jay.”

The boy at his side introduces himself as Johnny in a slight Western accent, and takes the monologue from there. After a brief bit about their project, the majority of which Doyoung drowns out with loud, unnecessary commentary on the texture of his rice, Jaehyun strikes the first chord, and their set begins.

Halfway through the first song, the verdict is in, and it is 100% the most awkward outcome possible.

He’s fucking incredible _. _

Doyoung understands music. Not as well as Taeyong, obviously, but he did vocal training all through school and his appreciation for good artisanship hasn’t faded. More than one of Taeyong’s coworkers have drunkenly offered him a job over the years. Chord structure, songwriting elements, melodic progression, vocal technique, overall technicality, and whatever else can be thrown out save for the nitpicky technical stuff only nerds and producers care about, Doyoung is at least well-versed enough in it all to give an educated review. And boy, does he have some shit to say.

His stomach, which had been clenched in anticipation of just another three-cord repetitive acoustic fare, is now tying itself into knots trying to get around just how fast and practiced Jaehyun’s fingers are flowing through chord after chord. It’s his head that’s left with the task of processing the vocals. How kind of his body to divide the labor. Just the rhythmic nuance would be enough—stylistically lazy vocals to match the jazzy, syncopated instrumental, accented consonants on the downbeats all up against a time signature that seemed to be changing every few measures—but it’s the voice itself that truly punches Doyoung in the throat and yeah, he’s super fucked. Beyond.

From the roughness of the tone it’s clear Jaehyun’s had the bare minimum of formal training, if any. There’s no grace to his breathing or transition between registers and on the rare occasion he flips up to falsetto there’s a change of gears that leaves a small, but noticeable break in the flow. He strains a little here and there, nasally when he combines a bright vowel and a mid-range note with a whiny polish on the edges of long phrases, but none of it really even matters. Not with a voice like that.

Taeyong’s hum at a note that drifts slightly flat doesn’t damper anything, not as far as Doyoung’s concerned. If anything, it adds to it. The way Jaehyun sings is rich—beautiful, even—soaring and bursting with natural talent and potential. Doyoung would listen to him sing the phonebook start to finish if all of it was as good as what he’s showing off now.

In the back of his mind, he registers that the boy he’s performing with has a pleasant voice, though less unique and far less strong. He’s leagues better at guitar, though, and the part division in the arrangement reflects it. He sees Taeyong tapping out the rhythm of the second song on the table out of the corner of his eye, sees patrons setting down their food and staring just as blatantly as he is, and knows he should be finishing up so they can leave before the situation gets any worse, but it’s all white noise. As soon as the applause starts up at the end of their opening number, Jaehyun adjusts his microphone with a smile that takes up his entire face, and Doyoung can’t move his eyes or ears away.

“I really do jinx things,” Taeyong mutters, but there’s a light in his eyes and Doyoung doesn’t have to know him half as well as he does to read that look. He’s impressed, too. Really impressed. “Or maybe it’s just your luck.”

“Shut up,” Doyoung snaps, pivoting in his chair away from his smug little eyebrow raise and towards the stage. That’s where he stays, still and silent saving for the tap of his leg, for the next twenty-eight minutes.

Doyoung’s always been kind of a flake when it comes to keeping promises, especially to himself. But there’s something about the way the stage lights shine off the wood of his guitar as he effortlessly weaves in and out of more genres he can name in a voice he knows by the increased agitation in Taeyong’s tapping even SM would die for that transcends their situations. For those twenty-eight minutes, Doyoung is just one of a hundred in the room with their eyes transfixed on Jaehyun. Simple as that.

The applause that follows Johnny’s thanks to the patrons and their exit from the stage ten songs later is like waking up from a dream. The edges of his brain fuzz in and out until the ringing in his ears subsides enough to turn back to Taeyong, who is looking just as thrown-off as Doyoung feels, but with a hint of concern that sends his anxiety off doing acrobatic tricks all over again.

Doyoung doesn’t even realize he asks what he’s gotten himself into out loud until Taeyong shrugs, plucking a piece of beef off Doyoung’s plate with a hum. “I don’t know, but you better figure it out before I stop caring about whatever it is and invite him to sing for Kyungsoo anyway.”

“You’re the worst friend I’ve ever had, I hope you know that,” Doyoung fires back, and the roll of Taeyong’s eyes isn’t satisfying at all when he still has no clue how to answer his own question.

The rhythm of the last song sticks in his head like glue, and it’s the music that plays in his head as he falls asleep hours later, the wind brushing tree branches against the glass of his window on every other downbeat.

 

 

The entire ordeal almost slips his mind, the keyword being almost, until the following Tuesday morning. Over his first cup of work coffee he checks the shared office schedule to see his first hour blocked off manually by Intern Jaemin in alternating color-coded green yellow and red, the labeled caption reading simply ‘Intake – Moon/Ji/Kim’. Five minutes is not enough time to inhale his caffeine and emotionally prepare for the competing energy of his colleagues, but neither is five hours, so he drains as much as he can, grabs his laptop, and leaves a note for Mark the Grad Student that he’ll be downstairs until ten, practicing deep, calming breaths all the way.

He loves Taeil and Hansol. He really does. They’re just a little much. Both of them are already in the meeting office when he gets there, which is actually just a renovated storage room they’ve cleared out and put a projector in. They all make bank, more than enough to split a nice new office between them, but there’s something so classic about their dingy little hellhole that it’d feel weird to change. So he crams himself into the corner as usual without complaint, eyeing the other two settled and sipping their morning lattes.

The way they’re both staring at him, side by side at the opposite side of the table, makes him more than a little nervous. Hansol flickers his eyes to his watch before folding his hands, staring at Doyoung with that blank stare he’s so perfected. “So. How are you feeling this morning?”

_ Like a drowned cat flattened by an 18-wheeler. _ “Great. Never been better.”

“Good to hear,” Taeil chimes in, shuffling some papers around in front of him. Doyoung’s never been able to tell if Taeil knows he’s bullshitting him or not, because he always projects the same cheery and vaguely spaced-out demeanor no matter what’s going down most of the time. “We just wanted to get our intake meeting out of the way, if you don’t mind. Will this time work most weeks?”

Doyoung shrugs, nodding in the affirmative. He’ll make it work for his own sanity. “Is this about my…” He debates whether or not to say his name, but gives up halfway through. “Newest client?”

Hansol gives a hum, opening up his laptop. Doyoung follows suit, bringing his out from his bag and clicking through to the notes he’d transcribed after getting home last night, rushed and barely coherent. Jaehyun isn’t the first client he’s had these coordination meetings with, in fact it’s more or less an absolute requirement for every last one he sees, but more often than not the main therapist isn’t someone from their directory. He has a feeling he won’t miss the novel-length emails, but he’s also not sure he likes the idea of his colleagues being the one to probe his interactions more. Not that he has a choice.

“What’s your initial reaction, out of curiosity?” Hansol asks, twirling a pen in his fingers. Taeil clicks his once, twice. He writes everything longhand.

“He’s polite, easy to work with so far.” Doyoung clears his throat, focusing against the subsequent sounds of his colleagues paraphrasing him for their notes. “He was reluctant to explain much about why he’s seeking me out, which is alright, but I’m lost as to why you sent him my way in the first place.”

“That’s not surprising,” Taeil offers, and Doyoung barely manages to remember he’s probably supposed to be writing some of this down, too. “He’s always been slow to share, I think Hansol would agree.”

“Open up the file I just put in the drop box.” Hansol inclines his head, voice soft. “There’s not much to know on my end. He’s signed a pretty extensive confidentiality release between us, so say whatever you need to.”

There’s two image scans waiting for him in Doyoung’s private drop folder, sourced from Hansol’s own server. The first is an intake form—the one used for their entire office—that, judging from the date, was given to him before him and Jaehyun ever met. The look Hansol gives tells him he knows Doyoung hasn’t touched it, though, so he takes a second to skim down the page.

He’s older than Doyoung expected, but in retrospect twenty-three is reasonable for someone just out of grad school. Financially independent, single, living with roommates, nothing in his basic information out of the ordinary for someone his age.  At the time of writing, about six months ago from his signature, there were no medications to be reported, and it isn’t until Doyoung scrolls down to the self-report things start to click together.

Their intake paperwork isn’t extensive by any stretch of the language, but it covers the basics. Hospitalization history, a quick always-sometimes-never on disordered thought patterns, a five-item stress inventory, and a space to disclose why services have been sought out.

He learns in the past five years, Jaehyun has been hospitalized twice—once in what would have been his junior year of university, the second less than a year ago. His handwriting is neat and pristine, all his answers marked in seamless, perfect circles. From there, Doyoung has to pull back, and consider it not as an evaluation, but rather what he’d deduce about a person from nothing but this paper alone.

Serious anxiety is almost certain, taking into account just the stress inventory alone. The rest of it just nails that hypothesis down even farther, on top of hints of something more complex. He strays from answers that come across as red flags, and the overwhelming number of ‘sometimes’ answers wouldn’t be alarming if it weren’t for the ‘always’ marks on the questions that, while to the untrained eye may not raise concern, indicate a real reason for further inquiry.

As for the ‘why’ question, Jaehyun seems to have been honest with him. He was coerced into it by, as he wrote, a close friend. The entire explanation is only a sentence long.

Doyoung drags the file into his own server, and moves for the next one, labeled as medical records. The physical notes are, as expected, vague and brief to keep in line with code, the most relevant only a mention of recurrent back problems, but the mental notes are surprisingly scarce in turn. But that’s probably more due to Hansol being, well, Hansol, than anything else.

_ General anxiety all but guaranteed _ , Hansol writes, and Doyoung gives himself a mental kudos for at least getting something right. It’s as hollow as ever as far as victories go.  _ Preliminary diagnosis—bipolar, type two. _

He’s on a low dose of a single-channel serotonin agent and a gentle mood stabilizer, one of the off-label ones. He saves this document, too, tapping his fingers against the top of his computer. “Nothing too wild.”

“No, not really.” Taeil agrees, and Doyoung turns to him, pulling up the notes again. “For the record, I tried to send him to Yuta first. He’s young and struggles with relationships, he’s barely mentioned sex, so that’s all more his… scene. He was talking about signing the release when he saw your card, asked what you’re about, and demanded to switch. I couldn’t get anything that sounded like a real reason why.”

Doyoung opens his mouth, closes it, and then opens it again. “Tell me what you think of him. Be honest.”

“I think he’s strong, intelligent,” Taeil begins, catching Hansol’s eye before the latter looks out towards the window, crossing his legs. “A perfectionist for sure. I believe in him a lot, and he’s come a long way. We both like working with him, we really do. But our guess is as good as yours.”

“You’ll be fine taking this, right?” Hansol asks, under his breath and more as a rhetorical question than an actual challenge to Doyoung’s qualifications. Of course he knows they’re already both thinking it. For them, it’s just a routine patient. The only unknown variable in this is him.

It isn’t too hard to read between the lines. For everyone’s sake, he probably shouldn’t fuck up.

 

 

Taeyong invites him out again after work. Doyoung glances at his calendar, and tries to make it sound like he’s declining for literally any other reason than that he knows exactly why he’s being asked today in the first place.

He knows better, of course. He always does. But Taeyong doesn’t pester, doesn’t push, and the suspicion Doyoung feels at that is confirmed when he informs him, chipper and bright, that he’ll just ask Kyungsoo on the way out of the studio instead.

It’s not the first time Doyoung’s come to the conclusion that Taeyong knows him too well for his own good. In the end, he decides to go, and predictably gets dragged kicking and screaming back to the very place he wanted so desperately to avoid. They slide into their back corner table just as the sound crew is setting up, but at least that kills the anticipation-related anxiety of having to sit through half a meal beforehand. Taeyong isn’t  _ cruel _ , at least not down to the bone.

“This is eight types of inappropriate and unprofessional,” Doyoung hisses, stirring the cocktail he broke down and ordered with gusto. Taeyong simply raises an eyebrow, adjusting the sleeves of his conspicuous salmon pink button-down. “I don’t care if he’s a long lost member of TVXQ, I can’t be here.”

“Yeah, sure, but you are.” Taeyong points out, while Doyoung fantasizes setting his studio on fire. “And you’ll be listening to something decent instead of whatever boring garbage opera you usually play.”

“It’s  _ classical _ , you uncultured gremlin, and it’s not garbage.” Doyoung cringes with his entire body at the first sound of a guitar being tuned. “You forced my hand.”

“Did I stutter? I apologize.” Taeyong rolls his eyes. “You’re just a patron of the arts who’s here with me, someone who builds a career off of it, like the loyal friend you are. As a community member, it’s your right to do so. Feign ignorance.”

“There is so much about what you just said that is both morally and legally deplorable, I don’t even know where to start.” Doyoung wants to throttle him, but it’s only a thin veneer masking how badly he needs to kick his own ass six feet under. He knows better than to succumb to blackmail out of panic, and he can tell by the slight hint of regret on Taeyong’s face he didn’t expect him to honestly be this stupid, either. So what if Satan Management scouts him? He has no stake in that besides a concern for his overall mental health, or at least he has a much bigger in stake in, say, not losing his goddamn license over knowingly and willingly showing up at a venue  _ with a client in the room. _

Doyoung legitimately wonders how he’s made it this far in his adult life. He feels something like panic bubbling in his chest. 

Taeyong sighs, setting his glass down on the table with a steady hand. “Of course it’s stupid. I was fucking with you, and I take responsibility for that. But I wouldn’t have if it was going to leave you totally screwed. If worse comes to worst, just trust that I’ve got your back.”

“Why do I feel like that’s a terrible decision?” Doyoung mutters, but he knows, on some level, with a little of lying and situational manipulation it’s perfectly explainable. There was no way he could have known for sure. 

But the problem, the real, serious problem he’s been trying to repress this entire time is that a treacherous part of him wanted to be here from the start. Wanted to hear him sing again, even if just to really memorize the voice he’s been half-imagining singing every song on the radio, and better than the original artist. It’s a level of rare, captivating talent and he hates himself for that being enough to drill a hole in his ethics to the point where he’d dare step within fifty feet of this place.

He’s torn between shamelessness and running full-speed down the block, so he just sinks as far into the shadows as humanly possible, hugs his cocktail to his chest, and closes his eyes.

“Well, would you look at that,” Taeyong mutters, in that way he does when he’s trying to decide just what he thinks about something, calculating. 

“I’d really prefer not to,” Doyoung replies.

“No, I mean actually look.” Taeyong flicks a straw-full of water on his face and Doyoung rubs one eye open with a groan, just enough to see through the lights and haze onto the stage where someone who is decidedly not Jaehyun is adjusting the mic, while someone else who is decidedly not Jaehyun or the boy he was with before tunes a guitar behind him. Doyoung feels functionality return to his vital organs, jolting him forward until he’s sitting up again, back ruler-straight. “See? It’s fine.” 

“They’re rotating out the acts?”

“Yes, Doyoungie.” Doyoung takes back what he said about Taeyong not being cruel, because he’s using that voice he only reserves for his least favorite colleagues and small children and he knows how much Doyoung loathes that. “Like they always do. They’ve been doing weekly acts as long as we’ve been going here, haven’t they?”

All the blood in his entire worthless frame pools into his face. He sucks the rest of his cocktail down to the ice cubes before replying. “I guess.” 

“The answer is yes, Doyoung.” Taeyong’s looking at him with a mix of pity and amusement that makes Doyoung want to crawl straight out of his skin, but the entire situation is inspiring that sensation without his help, anyway. “Unless they were truly rock-bottom desperate--and this is Seoul, so believe me, they aren’t--they’ll only be here one day a week.”

Doyoung wraps his tongue around about five different replies to that before snapping his jaw shut on, “Oh.” 

“What, did you think I would actually do that to you?” Taeyong laughs and shakes his head, eyebrows disappearing into his hairline with a wince. “I thought you were just playing along, you… Good God, I knew you were distracted, but wow. Rookie mistake.” 

“I feel like an idiot already, so your input is noted but unnecessary.” Doyoung feels a headache coming on, grabbing Taeyong’s water and stabbing at the ice with his own straw. Taeyong turns away, a glint in his eyes that stirs something deeply uncomfortable in Doyoung’s chest. “No. No, do not give me that look. What are you thinking?”

“Hmm?” Taeyong rests his chin in the palm of his hand, shrugging. “Oh, nothing. Nothing at all.”

_ Dread _ seems to summarize how Doyoung feels about everything in his life at this point.

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

“So, you were at the 127 last Thursday night?”

Doyoung wasn’t aware his heart could fall straight out of his ass until now, but it’s exactly the miracle of science that occurs when those are the first words Jaehyun says to him at the start of his appointment. Something large and painful, probably his lunch, gets lodged in his throat when he tries to reply, but at least the thirty seconds he spends grabbing water from the cooler while hacking up a lung allows time for his mental self-defense to kick in. By the time he settles down on the couch, he’s almost numb to the nail-biting, worst-nightmare-brought-to-life destruction just one single sentence has brought down on him.

Well, he’s not, but he can pretend. He thinks he knows what to say until he catches Jaehyun’s eye and realizes he really, really doesn’t. Lucky for him, Jaehyun just shrugs, unscrewing the cap on his own water bottle. “I think it was you, anyway. You were sitting next to a guy with white hair.”

He hates Lee Taeyong. He hates every cell and every bone in his body. He hates every bleached hair on his awful, worthless head. He has never hated anything or anyone more in his entire thirty-three years of life.

Except for maybe himself.

He folds his hands to mask their tremor. “I apologize, sincerely. It was a coincidence, but it was my responsibility to leave when I realized you were there. If you’re uncomfortable, I understand. It won’t happen again.”

Jaehyun’s expression is blank for a long, painful second until he seems to process Doyoung’s words. He lifts an eyebrow like Doyoung’s grown a second head, but in another blink he softens in a way that makes his position in Doyoung’s chair suddenly way too fitting for comfort. “No, that’s not… I wasn’t accusing you of anything. I was just making sure I was right. I didn’t know it was that serious.”

“Maintaining a professional distance with clients is something I take seriously,” Doyoung replies, grave. Jaehyun leans back in his chair, dimples distractingly prominent with the way he’s chewing on his lip. “Outside of this room, we don’t exist to each other. I should have set that precedent clearer.”

“I don’t care, Doyoung.” Jaehyun is almost, almost empathetic enough to make Doyoung waver, but Jaehyun’s file in too heavy in his hands to give in that easily. “You should have a right to go where you want, and I should too. You can’t avoid someone like the plague if you’re not supposed to know they exist.”

It occurs to him in the form of an overwhelming wave of nausea that of all the people Doyoung knows, Taeyong would absolutely adore Jaehyun.

“You’re not the only one who’s said that to me, you know.” Doyoung flips to a fresh page in his notepad, writing the date hard enough to for the ink to bleed through. This conversation needs to be over for both their sakes, and maybe if he’s obvious enough about getting to work Jaehyun will get the hint. “Coincidentally, neither of you have a license to practice mental health counseling. But I do, and this is one boundary I get to set.” 

Doyoung thanks the stars he’s sitting down, because with how lightheaded he feels watching the gears turn behind Jaehyun’s eyes he doesn’t think he could stand even if he tried. The fear Jaehyun will keep arguing is worse than he wants to admit, but so is the relief when he leans forward with a sigh, propping up an elbow on his knees. “That’s fair.”

Doyoung tries not to be obvious about the tension melting off his shoulders at that. “Thank you.”

“Can I ask you something, though?” There has to be a switch in him somewhere, Doyoung thinks. The way he can go from this confident, poised young man to something so sincere and vulnerable is too clean to not be practiced. “Just out of curiosity?” 

Doyoung hopes he won’t regret this. “Of course.”

“What did you think?”

He regrets it immediately.

Jaehyun’s eyes are wide, his voice is just a little raw, and Doyoung aches, because there’s something so needy but so… _cerebral_ about the way he asks it. It reminds him a little of Taeyong when he’s working on a beat he not quite sure of yet, exposed and prepared for whatever harsh critique comes his way. Doyoung has no idea if Jaehyun knows the corner he’s backing him into by asking it, but he’s trapped either way, and more than a little annoyed about it.

He wants to tell him the truth, that he was genuinely impressed, that he has a real talent for it, that Doyoung would love to hear more, and half a dozen other things. But this is therapy, and the truth is rarely what professionalism requires. On the other hand, it’d be too callous even for him to plead the fifth. Maybe according to the books it isn’t, but Jaehyun’s chewing on the already bitten-down nail of his index finger with a practiced air of disconcern and Doyoung just can’t bring himself to. He bristles, choosing each word carefully. “I’ll put it this way--what do you think about how you did?” 

“There you go again.” Jaehyun rolls his shoulders back, and Doyoung can all but see a new brick in his wall being glued right on top of the rest, the disappointment in his eyes turning Doyoung’s blood cold. “You people always do that. You turn it back around on me and answer my question with another one to avoid telling the truth.”

Doyoung worries the inside of his bottom lip and writes one, tiny word down on the note pad: _obstinate_. “Even if I praised you, would you believe me?”

Jaehyun seems a little caught off guard at that, the gears shifting back into motion with a whir as he crosses his legs, giving Doyoung a once over that makes him feel as naked as the average week nine session. “Depends on what you’d say. You talk differently when you remember I’m a human being.”

Something about that makes Doyoung smile despite the skepticism still etched on Jaehyun’s face, filing that away as further proof Jaehyun is on a level he hadn’t even anticipated. Beneath the nerves, it’s one of the most exciting things that’s happened at work in years, easy. But the wall’s still there, and he has to start cracking the foundation before Jaehyun builds it up too high to see over. “In other words, you’d dismiss a generic, ‘you should follow what you love’ as just business.”

“And a lot more, but yeah.” Jaehyun licks his chapped lips and sits back, finally seeming to concede some ground. Doyoung jerks his eyes back down to the paper with a hum. “So thank you for not doing that, at least.”

“No, you’re too smart for that to work on.” Doyoung’s chest tugs, fighting to keep his expression neutral. Jaehyun puts his fingernail back between his teeth, the guitar callouses on his hands setting off a 500-watt light bulb in Doyoung’s head. He puts his pen down, pauses, and picks it up again.

There’s nothing technically illegal about it, or at least nothing sends up a red flag as he mentally checks it off against all the relevant codes he can remember. In fact, a few clauses encourage it, though he doubts they were created with this sort of use in mind. But loopholes are loopholes, and for Jaehyun…

Best case scenario, it could build up Jaehyun’s trust in him and set the stage for Doyoung making a positive impact on his life even before they have any real work under their belts. Worst case scenario it’s a horrible, useless idea, but even then all it will do is make it harder for Doyoung to talk himself into doing things he shouldn’t. Either way, he still sort of wins, right? 

If nothing else, it’ll at least let Jaehyun know exactly how he feels about that performance of his.

Doyoung holds up his index finger, reaching to pull one of his business cards from the stack on the end table and flipping it over to the blank side. Halfway through writing the first number that pops in his head he stops and scribbles it out, because he’s smarter than this. There _has_ to be a less destructive route. Sure enough, after a quick look at his contacts he writes a new one down in full, labeling it with an arrow and the name ‘Do Kyungsoo’.

God, he’s glad he remembered that particular colleague of Taeyong’s before actually giving him Taeyong’s number out of desperation. The trade-off is that Kyungsoo is a subtle choice compared to Taeyong’s shiny little label of ‘SM Senior Producer’, but the more he thinks about it, the more sense it makes. Jaehyun has proven himself to be aware and intelligent in his own right. Even if Kyungsoo’s own title of ‘vocal trainer’ offends at first, it won’t take him long to fix that misconception.

What Kyungsoo isn’t subtle about is the types of students he accepts into his studio. His clientele, without exception, are sorted into two distinct categories--trainees under SM, or very strong recommendations.

Doubtlessly, Kyungsoo will confer with Taeyong at the mention of Doyoung’s name. If Doyoung knows Taeyong, which he does, he’d vouch for him even if he hadn’t seen the kid with his own two eyes. And for some bizarre reason, Kyungsoo trusts Taeyong if no one else.

What Jaehyun does with it is up to him. It’s within Doyoung’s right to connect his clients to programs within the community that seem to fit their goals and needs, as long as he’s not personally involved in said program. Any and all nepotism that slips through the cracks is the fault of loose interpretations and broad wording, not his inexplicable, overwhelming desire to bend over backwards into a full gymnastics floor routine to somehow express to Jaehyun what he can’t in words. He runs his thumb over the indents of ink, and slides the card into his folder. For now.

When he looks back up, Jaehyun is waiting for him, any emotion lingering from earlier smoothed into a mask of pleasant indifference. It’s not another brick, not fully, but it’s sure as hell a powerful front. Doyoung smiles in a way he prays is comforting. “So, Jaehyun.”

Jaehyun hums to show his attention, pushing a hand back through his hair. Doyoung shivers, but refuses to let his expression falter. “Have you thought any more about what we discussed last time?”

Jaehyun folds his hands, sitting up straighter in his chair despite his wandering gaze--back on the fish tank again, where Wendy is swimming up near the glass. Doyoung notes the continued association. “I think… I think it’d be helpful, actually.”

Doyoung nods, throat dry. “Alright. I’m glad, then.” Jaehyun watches him with hawk sharp eyes as Doyoung jots ‘surrogate patient’ down on his notes. He makes the question mark next to it small enough that he won’t see. “But that does mean I really do need you to talk.”

“I thought that’s what we’ve been doing?” Jaehyun asks, sincere enough to be… Doyoung doesn’t want to use the word ‘innocent’, because it doesn’t really fit someone like Jaehyun. It takes him ten words into his own mental thesaurus to realize it’s a joke. Doyoung curls his lip upwards. “Sorry. That was bad.”

“I appreciated it.” Doyoung bites down on his cheek to keep his smile from growing, smoothing out his papers. “It’s not an interrogation or anything, I promise. Just a few questions. Is that something you can do for me?”

Jaehyun shrugs, letting his broad shoulders fall. “I’ll tell you if I can’t.”

With a hum, Doyoung flips to the back of the folder where he keeps a little script he wrote for himself, pieced together from personal experience and IPSA conference visits into a list of ten questions. It’s supposed to be an intake form, but he’s never had a client where it wasn’t more effective in person, so he stashes one away in each patient folder. He has a distinct feeling this hour might venture farther off the book than most, but he has to start somewhere.

After a split-second of contemplation, he lands on number three. “What factors have led you to pursue sexual therapy?”

Jaehyun crosses his arms, choosing his words with apparent care. “Like I said. My ex pushed me into all of this.”

“This specifically?” Doyoung raises an eyebrow, but nonetheless writes it down, keeping the words small to leave space. “Because I know better than anyone it’s obscure. Even what Dr. Nakamoto does is obscure, and he’s one of five in Seoul. I’m one of three in the nation.”

“I mean, they probably don’t know it actually exists,” Jaehyun clarifies, breaking eye contact with Doyoung for the first time in what feels like minutes. “I just know how our arguments always broke out, the sort of things he’d react over.”

They register the pronoun slip at the exact same time, Doyoung’s limp hand drawing a haphazard line of ink an inch down the page and Jaehyun’s eyes going wide, completely and eerily still like a deer in the headlights. He’s waiting for Doyoung to react, so Doyoung hurries to push down the sudden rush of emotions before he speaks.

“What sort of things?” Doyoung asked, praying he sounds genuinely unconcerned instead of just trying to brush past it for the sake of professionalism. Their office makes a point of being inclusive, and while he’s certain they made Mark put it on the website somewhere, Doyoung knows better than anyone the fear runs deeper than small bits of assurance like that. He’ll have to show he means it. “It’s easy to say something you don’t mean in the heat of the moment. Even the same thing over and over can often reflect more about the person saying it than their target. But you took his criticism to heart.”

The emphasis Doyoung puts on the masculine _his_ is so slight he wonders if Jaehyun will notice, but as soon as it’s out of his mouth, Jaehyun’s ears perk up, lifting to attention almost like a dog’s. _Cute._

Jaehyun is quiet, and Doyoung uses the pause to lean forward, utilizing every nonverbal tool he has to convey the most important message he might get across all session: _It’s okay. You don’t have to hide this part of you. You’re safe._

The clock ticks five full seconds in the background, and Jaehyun slowly meets his eyes, some of the tension seeming to fade from his face, just a little. Doyoung exhales, relieved.

“Last time...” Jaehyun begins, voice scratching dry. He clears it, downing his previously untouched paper cup of water in one go before continuing. “Last time, you said I decided my boundaries here.”

“I did.” It sounds faint to Doyoung’s own ears, but Jaehyun hums, knitting his eyebrows together. In his head, Doyoung focuses on white noise.

“So if I wanted to try something, I can.” Jaehyun wraps his fingers around the edge of the chair, tapping them against the leather like a piano. “That’s still on the table?”

“Of course, Jaehyun.” It shouldn’t to break his heart that he’s asking for validation, because he doesn’t look even half as unsure or scared as he did just seconds earlier, but it does. He wants it to be okay for Jaehyun so badly it almost hurts. He catches himself holding back a sigh, but from what he can’t place. “As long as it’s paced.”

“Then…” Jaehyun shifts his eyes back and forth across the room once, twice, before nodding to himself, gesturing with his index finger over to the right. “If you could just scoot over a little.”

It takes him a moment too long to register what he means, Doyoung rushed as he pulls his supplies together and moves them to the armrest, situating himself in the middle of the right cushion so the entire other side of the loveseat is open. Jaehyun strides across like he’s planned it, like he’s meant to be there, abandoning the leather armchair for a place at Doyoung’s side, just inches away but not quite touching. Jaehyun folds his hands in his lap one at a time in an uneven, jerking motion that reminds Doyoung of a marionette. He meets Doyoung’s eyes for that silent ‘okay’, finding and accepting it in record time.

Doyoung shifts the clipboard into a new blind spot, clicking his pen. He’ll just have to write smaller, and that’s fine. It gives him an excuse to lean away if Jaehyun needs that space again. Or if he does.

“It…” Jaehyun tapers off, and he looks up at Doyoung and down to his hands twice before speaking. Now that he’s this close, Doyoung can almost see him working through the question he’s seen so many patients grapple with before behind his eyelids—whether or not they allow their guard to drop. “I worried there was just something wrong with him too, at first. I didn’t know how he could find anything to complain about. No one else ever had.”

“How many people had you been with before him?” Doyoung asks.

“Does it matter?” Jaehyun enunciates each word with the cadence of someone putting conscious effort into not sounding defensive, another mechanism Doyoung is very, very familiar with. He lets his eyes fall, Jaehyun straightening back from the few inches he’d shirked away.

“No, it doesn’t have to.” Doyoung makes another small note, well underneath the rest in parenthesis. “Sorry to interrupt. Go on.”

“But he’s the type of person who doesn’t speak up like that unless he thinks he has to.” Jaehyun pulls into himself by degrees, dropping his voice to intimate levels of quiet. Doyoung recognizes why, because he acts the same in situations like this. He’s distancing himself. Doyoung lets him. “He didn’t twist my arm into believing anything. I just realized he was right.”  

The first instinct Doyoung has is jump in with a follow-up question, but Jaehyun beats him to it, adjusting the collar of his shirt. “I’m good at giving people what they want. It never used to matter to me if I meant it or not; that wasn’t the point. But when I thought was giving him what he wanted, he called it being distant. What I called being attentive, he thought was a ‘performance’. That sort of thing. I didn’t get it until he brought out the sports metaphors.”

“Did you play?” Doyoung interrupts, jumping at the chance to confirm the ‘athlete’ theory situated right at the top of his list of assumptions. Maybe he imagines Jaehyun scooting just a fraction of an inch closer, but maybe not.

“Basketball, all through college,” Jaehyun replies, and Doyoung nods. He can see that in his build, especially in the legs. It takes him too long after Jaehyun continues to notice he’s staring at them. “I was good. I worked my ass off at it, actually. But according to him, there’s a difference between working hard to win because that’s what’s supposed to happen, and working hard to win because that’s what you want to happen. And that difference is why I was never _great_. Does that make sense?”

Doyoung crinkles his nose at the edge of scorn in Jaehyun’s voice. Judging by the trajectory of his monologue, he might not even realize it’s there. “A little, yes.”

“He felt that’s how it was with us, too.” Jaehyun flushes several shades of red, and Doyoung can’t help but feel that embarrassment radiate off him in waves, tangible. “According to him, I only treated him the way I did in bed because he expected me to do it right, not because I actually wanted to do it right.”

“If things are going to progress, it’s fine to be blunt.” Doyoung always hates this part, where he has to somehow drag out plain language on the most awkward subjects and shave off those precious minutes of appointment time from beating around the bush. Part of him wishes Jaehyun were still halfway across the room, if only for his own sake. “I have a doctorate in the field of human sexuality. Everyone here knows what we’re talking about.”

“I think the punch line was that I ‘fuck like an android’, in that case.” Jaehyun’s humor can dry up faster than a desert in July. That much is clear. Doyoung writes it down word for word, because it’s kind of funny. “Which is pretty unfair, considering when a robot is perfect at sex it’s ‘technological genius’ and ‘worth millions’. But when it’s your boyfriend of three years it’s just ‘unnerving’ and ‘emotionally vacant.’”

The most alarming part of that entire sentence isn’t the content, but how it’s conveyed with absolutely zero trace of bitterness. He could be reciting a grocery list with that intonation and Doyoung wouldn’t know the difference. There’s no way he’s satisfied with that assessment, but from delivery alone, he does a good job of acting unbothered by it. “Did he feel the same way about non-sexual intimacy?”

Exhaling, Jaehyun shifts, and this time Doyoung knows he doesn’t imagine it, a shiver going up his spine at their thighs brushing together, just for a millisecond and barely-there light. “I don’t know, actually. Is that horrible of me?”

“No.” It might be telling, but Doyoung doesn’t say that out loud.

“He thought that if I really cared, I’d have the vulnerability to try something that might go wrong. That would at least show passion.” Jaehyun’s muttering, now, close enough that he doesn’t have to speak up or keep every word separate. There’s an attempt at nonchalance in how Jaehyun is eyeing Doyoung’s shoulder blade out of the corner of his eye, but Doyoung notices, because that’s the sort of thing he’s supposed to. The first attempt at shifting in closer isn’t rewarded, but Doyoung isn’t too worried about it. “I realized I was horrified of it when I couldn’t, so it ended. Is that a better answer?”

“Yes, thank you.” It could so easily be sarcastic, but it’s not. It’s a sincere question waiting for a sincere answer. So Doyoung gives him one. “I appreciate that you were willing to share that with me, I mean it. I know it’s never easy.”

The second time Jaehyun eyes him, he takes the plunge, laying back against the cushion and lolling his head up against Doyoung’s shoulder, stiff and purposeful. Doyoung relaxes his muscles, careful not to lean in but relaxing his muscles as much as he can. Jaehyun pauses, not even breathing as he waits, trying to decide if it’s alright, if he wants to stay. After what feels like minutes, he sighs against him, letting his own shoulder drop into Doyoung’s side. “It’s weird. I expected it to be harder to talk this way, but it’s easier.”

It’s hellishly uncomfortable, because he can still tell Jaehyun’s holding himself up from where his body would naturally fall into place, because the parts of them that are touching feel about ten degrees hotter than the rest of him, because he can’t help but want Jaehyun to just let himself do it. But he can’t rush it and he knows it’d be worse to try, so he lets it stay that way. He keeps his voice as soft and soothing as he dares. “Physical proximity encourages it more naturally, I’ve found.”

“Funny, because I don’t know how I feel about this right now.” There’s no move to pull away, though. Doyoung hopes with everything in him he won’t find a reason to, not yet. There’s a long, aching silence only punctuated by their breathing, the bubble of the tank’s filter, and the clock, counting down endless seconds. “Oh my God, this so awkward. How do you handle it?”

“A lot of practice on people way more awkward than you,” Doyoung laughs, and even from their position, he sees Jaehyun crack a smile at that. “You know what’s terrible? The only volunteers we could find during my doctorate were from the engineering department. Not much opportunity for sex in that program, so I was the next best option. You’re a natural in comparison to that crowd.”

Something in that hits a nerve, because Jaehyun laughs harder at that than Doyoung’s prepared for, his client burying his head in the crook of his neck as he all but falls into his side, bracing himself with a hand on Doyoung’s knee. Doyoung digs his nails into his leg to keep from going stiff, waiting until he can breathe again. It takes a few seconds, and even when he’s regained composure he doesn’t lift his head to speak. “Anyway, you probably have more to ask, right?”

“Are you going to answer from right there?” Doyoung asks, nonjudgmental. Jaehyun peers up at him, and shrugs.

“Why not? If it’s going to be uncomfortable, might as well go big or go home.”

Sometimes, Doyoung just wants to go home.

“So, there’s a problem with the emotional aspect of sexual intimacy?” Doyoung taps his pen against the side of his jaw.

Jaehyun hums, brushing his fingers across Doyoung’s leg as he lays it down on the cushions, unconscious judging by how he jolts at the contact. “You could put it that way, yeah.”

A quick look at the questions again makes it easy enough to avoid it on the surface, but Doyoung knows he can’t forever, so he just rips the band-aid off one inch at a time. “I want you to try and identify some goals you have for your time here. As many as you want, or even just one or two. If you need to start broad and narrow it down, that’s what I’m here for. Think out loud.”

For the first time, he sees the small sore spot on Jaehyun’s lip where he teases the skin there with his teeth, because that’s all he’s doing the entire time Doyoung’s talking. It takes him a while to stop even after he goes silent, smoothing it over with his tongue before speaking, slow. “I just want to be able to open up, I guess. Getting instead of just giving. Finding that emotional connection instead of pulling back. Is that good or do you want more?”

What Doyoung doesn’t tell him is that he’s only asking it to hear it in his own words—Jaehyun’s already demonstrated time and time again throughout their conversation that he’s just stating the obvious with that. It’s small and hard to pick up at first, but Doyoung gets it now. Jaehyun’s accurate about himself, if nothing else. He answers questions the way he thinks Doyoung wants them answered. Doyoung was trying to prove that, and Jaehyun just did. All too easily.

It aches a little to know that in time, Doyoung will have to deny him the immediate satisfaction of knowing he’s passed the tests correctly. He’ll have to challenge him into giving up something… not genuine, he doesn’t doubt Jaehyun is telling the truth, but something that matters. Something from the heart. Something Doyoung might not even want to hear at all. He understands, in his own way, why Jaehyun was caught off guard the first time someone stood up to that part of him, or why he seems unaware that it’s not just one aspect of his life that’s touched by this tendency. Doyoung can only imagine how it’ll feel to have to watch him face it, and it’s not a pretty picture, as ill formed and fuzzy as it is. No one would want to.

Whoever Jaehyun was with must have cared a hell of a lot about him. The only way shutting him down like that would be appealing is if you knew he could be better, and wanted it for him badly enough to throw him under the bus to see it. Even if it is just Doyoung’s job, he genuinely wants that for him, too. But for now, he writes that all down and smiles. “No, that’s a good enough starting point.”

After a beat of rest, Doyoung inhales, and takes the plunge. “Do you consider sexual intercourse in a therapeutic setting to be one of the endpoints in reaching these goals, or think working towards it could be beneficial for achieving them?”

The secret to all of this is that Doyoung is always nervous. He’s scared out of his mind every second of every session, actually. Just because he’s a highly-trained and qualified professional doing this for a living doesn’t make something so intensely personal all business and no emotion like magic. And with Jaehyun…

For his own sanity and professional wellbeing, he has to admit it for good and all. Jaehyun is someone he could see himself _wanting_. If the circumstances were different, if he saw him sing at that club without a single clue as to who he is… the attraction would be full-force. He’d be all over the idea of him. He can’t deny that any longer, and more importantly he can’t deny that it’s already there, simmering under the surface, every interaction they have shaving off another month of his stress-addled life. Acceptance is the first step towards recovery, and all that.

Doyoung is attracted to Jaehyun in a way he’s never been attracted to a client before in his life, and he has no fucking clue how to handle that. But the answer to this question will at least let him know just how much ritualistic repression he’s going to have to pencil into his weekly meetings, and preparedness is key. He doesn’t know if he remembers to breathe or not.

“That’s… forward.” Jaehyun settles on the answer after a true awkward silence. “This is your job, what’s your opinion?”

“My opinion is that I don’t get to tell you what is and what isn’t going to work for you,” Doyoung replies, rehearsed. “Especially not like this.”

“I’m clinging to your arm right now,” Jaehyun points out, like Doyoung’s entire body hasn’t been ringing constant alarm bells since that went into effect. “Like I said, this is your job. I did my research.”

Again with the research. Doyoung feels vaguely nauseous. “I need to hear whatever the answer is from you, out loud. There’s no way around that, sorry.”

Jaehyun’s lips part, then close, eyelashes falling across his cheekbones. “I guess… if things head in that direction, they head in that direction. It’s fine if it does. There’s always that possibility, and I wouldn’t be here again if I was against it.”

“I guess it really is my job, then.” Doyoung messages his forehead, wishing it was acceptable to reach for the Ibuprofen in his desk and slam four back right this second. “Don’t worry, the boring part is almost over.”

“This might be normal to you, but boring isn’t the first word I’d use.” Jaehyun pulls in a little closer despite his words, all but melding himself against Doyoung’s side to swing his feet up on the sofa and curl into himself. For comfort’s sake, Doyoung swings his arm behind Jaehyun’s shoulders, loose and casual. He doesn’t object, and if anything leans into it, so Doyoung keeps it there, readjusting his notes with his free hand.

Jaehyun lifts up his hand and sets it down a total of three times before he stretches it slowly across Doyoung’s legs, fingers draped around the inside of his knee. A bolt of electricity runs through his body, and he hates how he feels that heat rising in his face, in his chest. He focuses every ounce of mental energy on reciting the driest section of the DSM he still has memorized, gritting his teeth against Jaehyun’s words. “Does it ever get normal?”

“No, but you get used to it.” Doyoung doesn’t really know if that’s true, but it’s the most comforting answer he can provide. He rubs the card between his fingers again, breathing in and counting down from three before letting it out. “I just have one last question. I know it’s usually something you’d get from Dr. Moon, but would you be open to looking into connections I deem… relevant to your treatment within the community?”

Jaehyun stirs, expecting something different judging by the lift of his eyebrows. “Please don’t say group therapy.”

To most people, Jaehyun probably wouldn’t be funny—he’s too proper and straight-laced, but there’s something about his style that Doyoung can’t help but be taken by. “God, I’m not here to torture you. It’s just a phone number.”

The card’s presented face down between Doyoung’s first two fingers, their hands brushing together as Jaehyun takes it without question. Doyoung forces himself to meet Jaehyun’s eyes again, watching his face for any sign of recognition when Jaehyun turns it over to look at the name. If it registers at all, there’s not a trace of it as he turns it over in his palm with an expression Doyoung can’t place. “He appreciates it when you call before ten. Tell him I sent you.”

It isn’t the first time Jaehyun’s looked at him like he sees straight through every layer, but this time it makes Doyoung good and nervous to the core. He’s used to being dressed down in desperate attempts to be understood by people in Jaehyun’s position, but it’s the first time he’s felt this defenseless to keep them from finding whatever they’re looking for. Doyoung doesn’t even realize he hasn’t as much blinked until Jaehyun looks back at the card, tension breaking. “What’s it for?”

“Just someone I think might be interested in hearing from you.” It’s wrong of Doyoung to be this vague. It’s _wrong_. He needs to give full disclosure, because it’s a question he needs to answer with transparency and with concern for what Jaehyun may or may not want. It’s wrong, but he wants… No, he needs Jaehyun to trust him, and he can’t ruin this for him before it starts. He can’t hear it from him before he hears it for himself. It’s better this way. It’s all part of the plan. “I keep contacts in a variety of fields. Therapy is a lot more than just what goes on in here or what we talk about. His name came to mind after meeting you.”

There’s still clear distrust, or at least uncertainty, but Jaehyun nods, continuing to hold onto it instead of pocketing it away. “Alright. I’ll call tomorrow.”

His next plan is by all standards less crazy than the first, but Doyoung debates it for even longer. He gives in before he’s frozen in place for too long, grabbing another business card and scribbling yet another set of numbers on the back with a corresponding label. “Before I forget, though…”

He can feel Jaehyun’s heartbeat against his own ribcage, his thoughts jumbling together into some horrible, ethically dubious stew. He swallows. “I don’t answer my work phone after I leave the office. This is my personal cell, so use it if you need to get a hold of me after five or on weekends. Texts work fine.”

For the sake of being accessible, he gives it to all clients. But something in the way Jaehyun leans across his chest to take the card from his hand, lips all but brushing the base of Doyoung’s neck only to settle back in where he was with the air of someone who has no clue what they’ve just done gives Doyoung the sinking feeling that for once, he may have just made a terrible mistake.

The text he receives after he’s waved Jaehyun out of his office fifteen minutes of small talk and awkward not-cuddling later is as innocuous as it gets, just a simple, ‘ _This is Jaehyun_ ’, so he has his number saved. Non-threatening. Normal.

He pretends it’s anything other than anxiety that makes him delete it the second after he makes the contact.

 

 

Doyoung hates to admit that he’s kind of hurt when at exactly 10:01 the next morning, he still hasn’t received a gushing, praise-laden text about how Jaehyun’s life has been changed forever and how he can’t possibly repay him for the opportunity. Maybe a better way to say it is that he’s ‘moping’, but he’s not going to use that, because he’s not moping, goddamn it, and the not-moping is not getting worse throughout the day, either. No way. Not a chance.

“You’re sulking, aren’t you?” The annoyance at his picturesque episode of staring out the full-plane café window into the snow-covered streets of Seoul in a morose, non-mopey way cannot be overstated. The sting of peeling his eyes away from such a romantic, grey-toned scene is, of course, only made worse by what he’s greeted by in return. He’d almost forgotten he’d agreed to go to lunch with Yuta in the first place, being so occupied mentally with… emotionally neutral thoughts. Doyoung bristles, taking a sip of his coffee with a frown. “Wow, classic sulking. You’re a natural.”

Doyoung really wishes he didn’t have such a natural talent for attracting the ‘sarcastic asshole’ personality types as friends. And as much as he tries to consider Dr. Nakamoto just a coworker, more than occasional lunch appointments aside, he fits the bill. Doyoung frowns harder. “I’m tired, don’t try and be cute.”

“Wasn’t trying,” Yuta shrugs, sending him a wink behind his own coffee mug. His face falls within seconds, smoothing into something more serious. “For real, though, you look distracted as hell. What’s wrong?”

Logically, Doyoung knows that this process takes time. If it didn’t go straight to Kyungsoo’s voice mail, chances are his assistant answered, who would have to clear it through Kyungsoo, who would have to clear it through Taeyong, and even then the earliest Kyungsoo gets back to anyone is a punctual 24 to 48 hours. He doesn’t even know why he’s so hung up on it. It’s not like he has personal stake in it beyond just being the messenger. Does the invoice even say what company Kyungsoo works for? He’ll have to call after hours and see, he…

Yuta flicks a Splenda packet at him, repeating his question.

“I’m just thinking about something with a client,” Doyoung mutters, tearing it open with his teeth and pouring it in his coffee out of spite. Doyoung doesn’t even like Splenda. If Doyoung had the energy, maybe he’d regret having said it at all by the glint in Yuta’s eyes, but it disappears too fast for him to register it. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Ah…” Yuta hums, thoughtful. “It never does seem to get less stressful for you.”

As per the job description for a sex psychotherapist, Yuta is a double-edged sword in the sense that he’s scathingly observant, but in the least subtle, most invasive way possible. Freud would be proud of his disciple. His dissertation was on the effects of subconscious repressed hyper-masculine sexuality in mainstream politics, or something equally bizarre along those lines, but it’s been published in five different languages and he is, without a doubt, the smartest person Doyoung’s ever worked with. Maybe because of it, he’s also the strangest.

“If I dealt with that many divorced housewives, I’d be a little unstable too.” Yuta leans on his hand, cocking his head to the side. “But that isn’t what this is about, is it?”

Doyoung has no interest in opening up to Yuta about anything, but somehow, that makes him even better at his job. Just a glance and it comes out like word vomit. “Why did Taeil forward me a patient that should have been yours without him even meeting you?”

“A valid concern,” Yuta twirls his fork, eyes rolling towards the ceiling before falling back down into a stare. “But you know why, and deep down don’t really care. Try again.”

Doyoung sighs, wondering, not for the first time, just what actually manages gets past him. If anything. “I’ll put it this way. I took a risk, and I want to know whether or not it’s paying off.”

“So instead of being anxious, you’re sulking.” If Yuta says that word one more time, Doyoung thinks he might… not walk out, because he’s paying this week, but be very unhappy. Well, unhappier than he already is. “Interesting emotional reaction. Define risk.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know I was paying you for your time,” Doyoung snaps, because he can’t think of anyone he’d rather divulge ethical breaches to less than someone who understands the implications as well as him. Taeyong, maybe. But Yuta? “You know exactly who I’m talking about. Sue me for having to get creative for the young and socially acceptable with a program made for—”

“Divorced housewives, I know. We’ve established that.” Yuta leans back in the booth, crossing his arms. “You need to work on that defensiveness. But later, your phone is ringing.”

Sure enough, the table is shaking with the vibration tone, Doyoung not even bothering to wonder anymore how Yuta managed to notice it first. His heart plummets before he even checks the caller ID, lunging across to where he threw it on the table and answering before he even bothers to confirm or deny if it’s who he fears.

The reality is, as per usual in Doyoung’s life, much, much worse.

“You crazy bastard,” Taeyong’s laugh rings out from the other end, Yuta trying and failing to be casual about leaning closer over the table. Doyoung pulls back, mood taking a nosedive straight into a flaming pile of garbage. “You actually gave your boy Kyungsoo’s number?”

The nausea-ridden dread he feels at the term ‘your boy’ is enough to make him feel sick to the stomach on the spot, but then the context of the situation hits him full-force, and _oh_. Oh, no.

If a merciful and loving deity really does exist, a freak lightning bolt will strike him down in the next five seconds.

He counts down, but at the end of it he’s still alive, and all he’s left with is an increasingly uncomfortable silence and Yuta’s eyebrows receding into his bangs. Doyoung curls into himself, lowering his voice. “I… This really isn’t the best time, Tae.”

“Kyungsoo interrupted my lunch break for this,” Taeyong huffs, shutting off the looping bass line of his latest project in the background with a click. “Why shouldn’t I interrupt yours?”

“Because I said so,” Doyoung hisses back, not bothering to mask his agitation. He can feel Yuta’s stare boring holes into his skull, but he refuses to look up, glaring down at his legs. “We can go out after work. I’ll even meet you at the studio.”

He can all but hear the roll of Taeyong’s eyes. “Whatever you say, Princess. I’m actually excited about it, but don’t worry. I live to work at your convenience.”

“Wait, Taeyong.” It takes every single bone in his body to convince himself to even try not to say it, but he loses out anyway, digging his nails into the fabric of his pants, pained. “You… You’re going to back me up, right?”

“I’d have to be crazier than you not to,” Taeyong replies, the horror Doyoung feels at finally looking up only to see Yuta’s expression masked back into pleasant blankness bottoming out his stomach. “I don’t see that crown being taken any time soon. See you tonight, weirdo.”

Hanging up the phone feels every bit like a court appearance, with Dr. Nakamoto Yuta as his judge, jury, and executioner. The vain hope he has at Yuta not reading into it is squashed when he can see him calculating equation upon equation behind his eyes—quietly, but still very much obvious. “Was that your wife?”

Doyoung can feel his face contorting into disgust even without his command. Though he would have done that anyway. “No. No, he’s… God, no.”

“Your producer friend, yeah?” Yuta asks, finishing off the rest of his coffee. “That’s what Hansol calls him behind your back. Sorry, I thought you knew.”

Predictable. He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, in that case.”

Yuta looks him up and down, once, twice, and turns towards the window, staring down at the still-falling snow out on the streets. “I didn’t know you were that involved with SM.”

If Doyoung says he’s not… the situation combined with his nerves, the talk about Jaehyun, and the timing of it all leaves his cards on the table, if in a muddled order. The leaps in logic aren’t obvious by any stretch of the word, but he can’t rule out for a second the chance that someone like Yuta might make enough of them to at least find a suspicious connection. “I just know all his coworkers.”

There. Neutral. Reveals nothing but explains _something_. He wishes he had time to think of a better reply, but he doesn’t, so he just pinches his inner lip between his teeth.

“So, tell me…” If Yuta thinks anything of that, he hides it well. That’s the downside of therapists—the poker faces are impenetrable. By the time Doyoung blinks, he’s grinning again, leaning over the table with mock-seriousness. “Confirm or deny: is it really an illuminati cult?”

For whatever reason, Yuta is baiting him away from the conversation, but he’s too relieved to no longer be on the witness stand to question where it comes from. He might be crazy, but he’s not suicidal. “I’d tell you, but then I’d have to offer you up for ritualistic human sacrifice.”

The glint in Yuta’s eyes as he laughs is so innocent and unassuming that Doyoung, even if for a second, convinces himself it really did go by without any alarm bells sounded, no trip wires pulled. The rest of their lunch wraps up without incident, just small talk and banter and a formal, but unnecessary, invite to Yuta’s annual Christmas party. The anxiety is still there, it always is with someone as skilled at worrying as Doyoung, but he pushes it aside without much concern during his afternoon appointments. As the days tick by without it ever resurfacing, he eventually lets it go.

But months later when he’s looking back on how everything played out, he pins it as the beginning of the end after all.

 

 

It isn’t until after midnight that the cab he called drops him off at his flat, his ringing ears and pounding head reminding him once again that he is way, way too old for this.

He has no idea how Taeyong keeps it up, but it must be a lifestyle thing. It started off tame enough, and Doyoung was promised it would stay that way. Initially it was just the two of them, post-work drinking mainstay Sehun the marketing director, and a Chinese choreographer from the studio named Sicheng, who behind a very heavy accent has to be the funniest coworker of Taeyong’s he’s ever met. With some convincing, and Taeyong promising to pay the tab, they hit up a high-end rising star of a nightclub, because apparently Doyoung’s ‘complete suspension of common sense’ is a call for celebration. After the day he’s had, the choice between his dignity and free alcohol wasn’t hard.

But like all of Taeyong’s promises, this one dissolved into dust the longer the liquor flowed, so three shots of soju and poorly-thought out bet later they’d decided that Doyoung needed a coworker there as well, and that shitty of a decision needed three more shots for him to sign off on. After a stern warning to Taeyong to keep his mouth shut he ended up calling Yuta, because he seemed like both the most entertaining and the least likely to result in his utter social embarrassment. To his surprise—and mild horror—he actually showed up, and after that it was a haze of droning indie rap, smoke, and flashing lights he hadn’t experienced since grad school, the drinks and jokes mixing into something that felt, for the first time in too long, kind of like fun.

It isn’t like he never goes out with friends, but something in him felt… braver. Doyoung doesn’t have a reputation for being _boring_ per say, but when it gets too far responsibility knocks and he calls a ride home long before anything ever happens that could be out of the norm. But tonight, he stayed. And despite feeling like a human dumpster, he doesn’t regret it. He could tell—even though he’d be loath to admit it—that it made Taeyong’s night, and not only because he spent half of it getting cozy levels of acquainted with Doyoung’s coworker. He got closer to Yuta and laughed so hard with Sehun vodka and sprite came out his nose. He left with Sicheng’s number in his phone. He stepped on a dance floor for the first time in five years.

Somehow, even with the room spinning as he stumbles in the door, he’s happy.

Maybe going crazy isn’t so bad after all, he thinks somewhere in the back of his mind as clumsily strips down to his boxers before flopping down face-first on the mattress. Maybe it’s healthy, taking a risk like this. As much as it hurts to consider, even if Jaehyun never says anything about it at all, the push he got from throwing caution to the wind might still just be worth it. Even if—

His text tone buzzes from the pocket of his pants halfway across the room, but he’s out cold before he can even think to answer it.

Three hours later the beginnings of sobriety jolt him awake, the grossness he feels overshadowing the time on the clock and pushing him out of bed. It’s only through a miracle in the middle of brushing his teeth he remembers it at all, and he stumbles through the dark with zombie-like focus to find his phone before he crawls back beneath the sheets, rubbing his eyes against the bright of the screen.

It takes him two scrolls through the contents of his lock screen to see it at all, wedged between a text from Taeyong and a calendar alert about an office meeting at nine on Monday. He opens and reopens it twice, just to make sure it’s really there and not a half-lucid hallucination. But it is, sent at twelve thirty eight, Jaehyun’s name plastered at the top of the conversation.

_You gave me a vocal trainer._

Doyoung’s blood rushes and thrums in his ears, heart racing with the alcohol and anxiety and a wave of warmth that surges through his chest. His fingers shake as he types out a reply, only to erase it and write a new one in its place.

_Getting better is easier when you feel secure in life. I hope this can help._

He reads it over three times to make sure he sounds coherent, grateful beyond all belief that he isn’t near aware enough to scream out every last ethical concern he’s raising as he hits send. If he were in the right mind, he’d be worrying himself sick over this, half out of how inherently _wrong_ he feels and half out of anticipation for what he’ll say next. But as it stands, it’s four in the morning, he’s already proven he’s chock full of weird choices, and there’s no way Jaehyun’s awake to reply. It scares him how easy it feels.

His phone buzzes less than three minutes later, stirring him out of falling asleep yet again. Somehow, despite the fear, it’s easy to swipe open the message and read it when he really has nothing left to lose at this point. But he’s still not prepared at all for the reply.

_You have no idea what this means to me._

Doyoung’s heart is heavy and hot in his throat, sticking and choking him even after he tries to swallow it down. The thousand things he can say is enough to dizzy him like he’s drunk all over again. Even like this he knows he can’t send nearly any of them, and the ones he can? He knows better. So he goes with the only option he trusts.

_Does the same time next week still work?_

Those three little grey dots appear again before he can even shut off the display, so he waits, body numb in a way that makes him feel like he’s floating, suspended somewhere between reality and a folded-up corner in time where the only thing that exists is an emotion he has no hope of naming, flooding his system and dulling the world around him. The seconds feel like hours until one singular word appears on the screen.

_Absolutely._

That night, Doyoung dreams of brown hair and snow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This update isn't even 'fast' but it's like, warp speed in my world. 48 hour flight delays left me with some unexpected free time, so I wouldn't bank on a less than two week turnaround in the future. But I've been feeling inspired lately, so who knows? Thank you to everyone who has left a comment or kudos so far, and as always I owe everything and more to my invaluable beta, [kept](http://archiveofourown.org/users/kept/pseuds/kept).


	3. Chapter 3

Half of the magic is in how he sets the scene.

The lights are off, including the lamp above his workstation, the blinds shut tight behind closed curtains to leave only a soft glow from the overcast skies outside. Save for footsteps and vague murmurs from the rest of the building outside his door, it’s silent, no white noise or commentary. The couch is pulled out into a futon, stacked with blankets and made up completely, sheets fresh from a trip to the Laundromat the night before.

Doyoung’s sitting right in the center dressed in his best tie and button-down, ankles crossed, knees propped up, and eyes closed with his papers strewn out face-down around him. At his back, he feels Jaehyun press his spine up to his, matching their bodies up back to back. Doyoung counts the space in between Jaehyun’s breaths, watching for the numbers to even out. In the quiet, he waits.

“So, why are we doing this again?” That’s not exactly the response Doyoung was wanting from Jaehyun, but he’ll take it. He smiles because he knows he can’t see.

“It’s a relaxation exercise,” Doyoung reminds him, patient. Jaehyun sinks himself farther into the mattress, bristling. Doyoung leans back just a touch, hands out evenly between them. “Let’s try again. Close your eyes. Ten breaths, each held for five and released in three even flows of air.”

“Is this seriously what they teach you in school?” Again, it takes Doyoung a second to realize it, but he’s joking with him. He laughs even before he gets to that realization, though. Jaehyun scratches at the back of his head, and Doyoung thinks he hears him laugh too.

“Yes, Jaehyun. I took more than one class on breathing exercises.” He reaches out behind him and gently tugs Jaehyun’s hand down back to the mattress, positioning it parallel to his and leaving a tiny bit of room so that they don’t touch. Not yet, anyway. “When you get to ten, I want you to use the eleventh to move towards me in whatever way feels natural. This is most effective when you put the least amount of thought into it possible and rely on instinct. If you get out of your head, it’s easier to find a natural rhythm. Does that make sense?”

Jaehyun is still for a second, and then nods, once, like he’s synthesizing all of it with care. Doyoung swallows, and continues. “Don’t push yourself—we’ll be building on it, so starting small is best. On the twelfth, I’ll do the same. On the thirteenth, back to you, and so on. We’ll go until twenty-five today. If something ever starts to feel uncomfortable, use your breath to move away. As always, you’re free to stop at any time. Nothing is required, understood?”

“I get why this would be pretty terrible with engineers.” Jaehyun replies, Doyoung shivering at how his hair tickles the back of his neck. “But, yeah. I think I get it. I’m… I’m ready whenever you are.”  

Doyoung counts down to three aloud, and after that he focuses against the sound of him again, listening for that cadence. Like a true musician, Jaehyun finds it with ease, and by the third breath he’s conducting a rhythm that Doyoung slides in to match, Jaehyun giving it a life in its own right. He’s so caught up in the feel of how their shoulders fall and rise together that he registers the tenth only just before Jaehyun moves, and Doyoung can’t help how ‘robot’ is, in fact, the first word that comes to mind, each motion separate as Jaehyun turns just enough to rest his head in the crook of Doyoung’s shoulder. Just like the week before, though, he doesn’t let himself sink down against him just yet, still holding his body up when he exhales.

It’s far from natural or relaxed, but that’s okay. Doyoung didn’t expect him to be good at this from the get-go, and they have time. They always have time.

In Doyoung’s own space, he adjusts so that Jaehyun ends up in a more comfortable position, the placement of his head more natural and all but forcing him to fall into it. Sure enough, that’s what he does, angling in his knees towards him. Doyoung makes it so that they’re pressed together, natural.

The dance is one Doyoung is familiar with, and, for the record, probably the only type of dance he’s capable of doing without looking like he’s being electrocuted. His role, though maybe disguised as initiative, is anything but. His purpose is simply to follow, to gently push and pull against whatever calculated choice Jaehyun makes and package it up into something organic, all without him noticing. In the span of a second, he has to assess what moves to make, what nonverbal argument to present, and how to slowly draw out a pattern of his own, one that, if successful, Jaehyun will fall into and start to slowly chafe away at his caution. Instead of stopping short, the rhythm will force him into fluidity all on his own.

It’s something Doyoung’s done half a dozen times, but none have made him this nervous before. Jaehyun’s observant, that much is clear. The chance he’ll pick up on the gimmick is anyone’s bet, and Doyoung just has to hope that if he does, he’ll test him back instead of pulling away.

Jaehyun places his hand on his and interlaces their fingers, bold. Something tells him Jaehyun isn’t the type to back down easily from much. Doyoung sucks in his breath of air harsh through his nose, steadying himself. He keeps that hand still, instead putting himself so they’re side-to-side, shoulder-to-shoulder.

Jaehyun’s turn comes and goes without him moving, and somehow, Doyoung doesn’t mind. Part of him isn’t surprised.

“Sorry. It felt right to stay,” is the explanation Jaehyun gives, but Doyoung can feel that—for the first time, he’s starting to seem relaxed. That means he’s doing something right. He doesn’t move either.

When Jaehyun stirs, he lifts his head up, and even though Doyoung’s eyes are still closed, he can feel him breaking the rules to watch him. Again, he expects it. He’s looking for a sign, some sort of clue as to what’s next, as to what’s ok, but Doyoung knows his expression is practiced and unreadable, serene. It’s all up to Jaehyun to figure it out, and in that split-second decision he reaches out with his free hand to brush a strand of hair away from Doyoung’s face, tucking it behind his ear. His hand lingers, fingers spread across down the side of his neck, light.

Doyoung digs his nails into the palm of his other hand, the only thing that belies any reaction at all a twitch of his eyelids as he fights to keep them closed. He leans into the touch, focusing to remember the count. Focusing to remember anything at all other than how it’s like a jolt through his system, and how he can’t for the life of him decide if he wants it to stop or not. But what he wants isn’t the point. It never is.

He doesn’t pull back.

By degrees, Jaehyun moves his fingers across his face, ghosting and unsure with a curiosity that sears him like a brand, hot and almost painful. Doyoung turns into him in the silence, following where he leads and keeping their hands together. The seconds tick, and Doyoung hopes with everything in him Jaehyun can’t feel how fast his heart his beating, or how he’s shaking just slightly to keep himself propped up just to keep a straight face as Jaehyun maps his jawline, his brow bone, his eyelids. It’s slow, deliberate, and Doyoung is grateful the silence is expected. He doesn’t even know what he’d begin to say if he had to.

Jaehyun’s trying to hide it, he knows he is, but Doyoung can still feel the tremor in his hand, how his breaths are becoming uneven and just a little jagged. He’s soft, and in a way, so innocent, but it’s clear it’s a challenge, and the thought that Jaehyun might not have ever done anything this intimate for himself doesn’t escape him. By the time Jaehyun’s hand curls around the side of his face, they’re facing each other proper, kneeling and close enough for Doyoung to feel Jaehyun’s breath warm on his skin. For another second, everything is still.

It feels like time itself slows down to nothing, and for a single, horrifying moment, any and all thought of the reality beyond this room, about who he is or who Jaehyun is or anything at all seems like a far-off dream, or maybe not even real at all. The only thing that feels real, the only thing that commands his attention enough to feel like it matters it all is Jaehyun’s thumb brushing across his lips.

They part automatically at the touch, and in the days following, he’ll spend hours agonizing over whether or not he takes it as a sign, or if Jaehyun would have just kissed him anyway.

(Deep down, he thinks he would have even if he had pulled back and locked his jaw, but he didn’t, and that’s something else entirely.)

It’s chaste and cautious, pressing just enough to not be confused for anything less than the carefully chosen move it is. His lips are soft and just a little chapped, open to match up against his. Jaehyun stills, and Doyoung is sure Jaehyun can feel his pulse in his neck just as clearly as he can feel how Jaehyun’s shivering like the air’s dropped twenty degrees, suspended as Jaehyun seems to weigh a choice Doyoung has no hope of understanding.

In the space, Jaehyun presses in just a touch more, curling the tips of his fingers into Doyoung’s hair. It’s over just as soon as it starts, and when Jaehyun pulls back, the moment is over, and Doyoung doesn’t dare move an inch. Soon enough, there’s not a part of them touching, and it feels as cold as the weather outside, every part of him stinging against the lost contact.

He blinks open his eyes, the details of his office blurring into view along with the sinking realization of just where he is and why. The all-consuming panic is slower to set in, but the intensity more than makes up for it.

It’s all he can do to face Jaehyun again with a semblance of normalcy, reaching for his papers and throwing them into order, digging in his back pocket for a pen and putting it to the first blank page he sees. Jaehyun looks like he’s just run a marathon, flushed cheeks and wide eyes and something in Doyoung feels like it’s dying, but it’s fine. It’s so incredibly fine. He’s going to take notes, now. Notes are fine. Notes are non-threatening. He’s got this. Crisis averted.

“Was that kind of the idea?” Jaehyun asks, like there’s not a thing unusual about the situation at all. Doyoung is all too happy to play along.

“Yeah, that was…” Doyoung starts writing down something, forgets what it was, and scribbles it out. “Yeah. That was the idea.”

Jaehyun smiles, and Doyoung, not for the first time, finds himself wondering just what he’s gotten himself into.

 

 

Doyoung is mildly surprised to find that life just… goes on.

He’s not sure what he expected to have happen, short of some disastrous meteor strike materialized by emotional repression, but it’s still surreal when absolutely nothing is out of the ordinary at all. He sees his clients. He takes his cat to the vet. He chips away at his growing stack of insurance emails while watching Netflix over the weekend. He calls his brother. The sun rises and falls.

The real mystery is why he expected anything different.

The only disruption, however minor, comes with a knock on his office door on Tuesday morning, around the time he’d usually be meeting with Hansol and Taeil, but Hansol is off at some conference and Taeil is, as he assures, very busy. He’s half-tempted to shoo whoever it is away, these session reports won’t write themselves, but despite his better judgment, he leans back in his office chair and beckons them in. After a beat, the door inches open to reveal the small, shy frame of Mark the Grad Student, hidden behind a stack of precariously balanced files. He greets Doyoung with a wave that nearly topples it over, fumbling to keep it straight.

“Taeil says he wants you in his office,” he says, just a tinge manic. Doyoung pulls the screen of his laptop down, quirking an eyebrow. “As soon as possible, but no rush. His words. I hope it’s a good time.”

“It isn’t, but that’s fine.” Doyoung is very familiar with Taeil’s apparent sixth sense to only ever need anything when Doyoung has about ten other things to do, and never when his agenda is nothing more than to put his feet up and play solitaire. There’s nothing he can really do about it. He looks Mark up and down as he brushes past him, humming. “How many of those are for Dr. Nakamoto?”

“Most of them,” Mark replies, with a matter-of-fact dryness that makes Doyoung’s heart swell with pride.

“Just leave them on my desk,” Doyoung waves a hand in dismissal. Yuta takes some sort of bizarre delight in hazing the interns, but Mark works too hard not to earn Doyoung’s pity, and they have another lunch date today as it is. The relief in the kid’s eyes is more than enough to make up for the lecture he’ll get for throwing out the twenty-some pages of printed out snidely annotated workshop emails, so there’s his good deed for the day.

Taeil’s office is on the third floor, tucked away at the end of a long, brightly lit hallway. All that greets Doyoung when he knocks on the door is silence, and by the time he finally hears movement from inside he’s already pivoted on his heel to head back to his own work. Taeil, to his credit, does look a little flustered when he greets him, gesturing him back in and guiding him into the chair opposite his desk with haste. He clears off a space for him with a smile, folding his hands. Outside his window, it’s snowing again.

“I thought our meeting was cancelled for the day?” Doyoung asks, watching as Taeil flips through pages of notes one after the other before giving a soft ‘a-ha’, straightening out a handful in front of him.

“It was going to be, before I saw Jaehyun yesterday.” Doyoung feels like his chest just landed an attempted backflip in a face-plant, but he masks it with what he hopes is pleasant interest. He can’t help but still feel a little crazed, but if Taeil notices, he doesn’t show it. “I figured you and I should at least touch base.”

“Yeah, no, that’s great. Touching base,” Doyoung replies, pretending to be very busy with picking dirt out from under his fingernails. “I’m down. Hit me with it.”

Doyoung may not have been working here as long as the rest of the office, but for the love of God, he practically runs it. There’s no reason for him to feel like Taeil is putting him on trial, but there’s something so ominous in the way glances down at his notes, then up at Doyoung, then back again. He grinds down on his molars. “He’s been talking about you a lot lately.”

Curse his flawless, impeccable intuition. His nervous-laugh doesn’t go unnoticed by Taeil this time, judging by the way he tilts his head as Doyoung speaks. “He has?”

“I don’t know what you’ve been doing, Doyoung…” Something cold and hard bottoms out his stomach, draining the feeling from his limbs and forcing his eyes downcast. His thoughts whir through every end to that sentence he can think of from the disappointing to the apocalyptic in less than a millisecond, dizzy with the possibilities.

After Thursday… After Thursday, he doesn’t even know what to think. Maybe Jaehyun’s creeped out, or he’s realized he’s made a mistake, or even that he’s—No, no. Doyoung has just been doing what he does with everyone, but with Jaehyun… Oh, God, he’s been going about it all wrong, how stupid is he to do the same shit and expect someone like Jaehyun to benefit from it? Or even think it’s normal, let alone helpful? If he can just get a chance to reevaluate it all, to apologize and reassess, he—

He waits without breathing, hating how he knows full well Taeil is drawing out the pause on purpose. “But he absolutely adores you.”

His heart lurches, because that was something he had absolutely not even considered for a second. For a single, blissful moment, he’s relieved. No reason to panic, how could he have gotten himself worked up like that? Jaehyun’s fine, it’s all right. He can breathe.

In that breath, he realizes just exactly what Taeil had said, and it washes away back into dread just as quickly as it came, because oh, this might be worse.

“Oh, that’s…” Doyoung realizes halfway through the sentence he has no idea what he even has to say in reply to that, but it’s too late, so he fumbles through it. “What makes you say that?”

Taeil scans through the notes again, a small smile on his face that leaves him with the sinking suspicion he’s reading every emotion on Doyoung’s face like a book. He hopes it isn’t a very detailed one. “He’s grateful he’s getting the chance to see you, Doyoung. He made a point to tell me he thinks that it’s starting to really help this week, even before I brought it up.”

He can feel his pulse still running high, but Doyoung can’t help the smile that falls across his face at that. “I’m glad, I really am.” He’s surprised at how genuine it is, saying it out loud. With a moment of clarity, he’s calm enough to feel the importance of his words. There’s no reason for him to be getting this reactive over something that’s really so simple and routine in reality. “It’s… It’s not easy, but I’m doing my best with him. I’m glad he’s getting something out of it so far.”

“If you want my opinion, I agree with him.” Taeil says, mild, looking off somewhere in the distance before seeming to realize what he’s doing and returning to his notes. Doyoung often wonders what exactly it’s like to be Moon Taeil. “He’s… there’s still things I’m working on with him, goals and milestones we’ve set to reach, you know the drill. But he’s looking brighter recently, smiling more. It’s easier to get him to talk. I don’t know if it’s all you, but I know when it started.”

“Thank you, in that case.” Doyoung pulls at the collar of his shirt, smoothing out his tie. “I’ll continue to do my best. I just worry that…”

He tapers off, the realizing that he doesn’t even know if this is something he wants to say out loud snapping his jaw shut. He lets Taeil stare at him for several long seconds before it’s awkward enough that he at least has to try his best, for better or worse. “I just worry that if something goes wrong, or if I make the wrong call, the consequences might be worse than I’m used to seeing. Do you get that feeling?”

Taeil considers this, blinking back at him with a hum. “Because he’s so young, or because of the issues he’s bringing forward?”

“Both,” Doyoung replies, faint. Sometimes it’s easy to forget the distance between them, or if it matters at all, but then he adds up the numbers again and it hits him square in the chest. Jaehyun’s still a kid, still figuring out where he’s headed, where he fits in world, and there’s nothing more dangerous than a misstep at such a vulnerable stage from someone in his position.

Doyoung is comfortable with those who’ve lived long enough to regret the path they’ve chosen, because as callous as it sounds, even the worst he could do wouldn’t ruin their life. But Jaehyun still has his options wide open, and if something convinced him to close off, or to shut down, or to give up…

There’s something very delicate here, something that Doyoung can’t name yet. It’s unformed just underneath the surface, and he wants nothing to do with opening up the potential that lurks there. But each week he’s become more and more aware of it, and here in Taeil’s office, it weighs on him more than ever. He’s not terrified of Jaehyun, no, not like he was back before this all started. The idea of treating him doesn’t scare him anymore.

He’s absolutely petrified of hurting him.

No one therapist can do right by everyone. He could run the most pristine, legitimate, sympathetic practice in the entire nation, and still not be able to seal up every crack, to get every patient where they need to be. It’s pointless, even dangerous, to think of his work in terms of success or failure, ‘saved’ or lost, hurt or helped. The most he can do is just assess the situation, work with the patient sincerely, and use his best judgment. Not everyone will ever fit with his style. Not everyone will ever feel like it’s beneficial. Getting too hung up on that serves no one. He has no delusions of a savior complex, and Jaehyun is the last person who would need it even if he did.

But he’s never hoped he’s capable of doing right by anyone as much as Jaehyun. It feels like it matters. It feels important. It feels…

Well, it doesn’t matter how he feels. But he still wants to do it right.

Taeil clears his throat, dragging Doyoung out of his thoughts and back into the real world, where he has his first client of the day in ten minutes and desperately needs to get his shit together. “I understand, Doyoung, believe me. But we’re all here for you, yeah? We get it.”

His words are comforting, they really are, but as much as Doyoung appreciates it, there’s only one piece of the conversation that sticks in his head, repeating on loop over and over in the back of his mind for weeks to come.

_I don’t know what you’ve been doing._

_But he adores you._

 

 

Doyoung starts getting used to texts from Jaehyun at strange hours.

He wonders, legitimately, if the boy ever sleeps at all the first time he rolls over at three am to see Jaehyun’s name plastered on his lock screen, and as a subtle act of passive aggression refuses to answer it until morning. He’d rather not enable his unhealthy sleep patterns, after all.

_I have my audition in the morning_ , he writes, Doyoung digesting it again over a cup of coffee. It’s Wednesday and the sun is just starting to melt off some of the snow, though Doyoung has no illusions of that lasting all that long. He picks out a scarf and overcoat for the day before replying, not putting fingers to keyboard until he’s just heading out the door, bracing himself for the cold walk down to the subway station.

_We should talk about how it goes tomorrow, then,_ Doyoung offers, biting down a smile as he makes a mental note to call Taeyong over his lunch break. If he were concerned, he’d have Taeyong do some spy work about it, but he’s not. He knows the type of voices Kyungsoo takes, and Jaehyun won’t be passed up. It’s not even a question.

Jaehyun’s own reply comes about an hour later, Doyoung sneaking a glance at his phone in between a conference call with another client’s therapist and his first appointment of the day.

_Wish me luck?_ It’s bold, and maybe in some instances, a risky move considering Doyoung’s decidedly neutral reply. But whether he says it because he thinks Doyoung will, or because he hopes he will is irrelevant. He does either way.

_Good luck, Jaehyun._

He doesn’t need it, but Doyoung has a grip on his sanity, however flimsy it feels sometimes, and he doesn’t write that.

He says it to Taeyong, though, when they meet after work to window shop for holiday gifts in Itaewon, the skies overcast once again and wind kicking up snow around the streets. It’s a soft, romantic Christmas card sort of scene, like the nights they used to walk together side-by-side with coffee in hand, laughing and teasing each other under their breaths. They haven’t been down this part of the district in ages, though. Something about being back warms him from the inside out, lifting his spirits to higher than they’ve been all throughout one of the most stressful months of his work calendar.

“Has he said how it went?” Taeyong asks, peering inside a boutique at a jewel case of watches with a hum.

“I said we’d talk about it tomorrow,” Doyoung shrugs, wrapping the sleeves of his jacket down to cover as much of his fingers as it can while still holding onto his coffee mug. “Something tells me he’ll be modest either way.”

“Kyungsoo’s going to take him, you know.” Taeyong takes a sip of his own drink with closed eyes because yes, they both already know. “He probably won’t give him the call until lunch tomorrow, to build suspense and all that. What time do you see him?”

“After that, thankfully,” Doyoung says, feeling a grin spread across his face, cheeks reddened in the cold. Taeyong just looks at him with that perfect mix of fondness and disbelief, silently laughing behind his scarf. “You’re humoring me on this really well. I almost can’t trust you.”

“I can tell you really care,” Taeyong remarks, almost wistful. Doyoung falls in line with his steps, slowing at a crosswalk as they wait for the light to turn. Their breath is visible in the air. “It’s just… it’s okay, right? For you to care?”

The light turns, but neither of them notices it until they’re having to speed walk across the street to catch it.

“Of course it is, Taeyong,” Doyoung replies once they’re on the other side, more annoyed that he can’t drum up proper annoyance at the question than he is about the implications. “It’s my job to care. Don’t give him too much hell, at least not on my behalf.”

Taeyong parts his lips like he has something to offer in reply, but in the end, he just smiles, thin-lipped and sincere, like he has a secret that he’s waiting to share. It should make him nervous, but it’s one of the most loving, affectionate expressions he’s seen on Taeyong’s face since it all fell apart, and well…

All things considered, Doyoung will take it.

He gets the next text at a slightly more respectable hour, just a scant twenty minutes past midnight, early enough for Doyoung to still be awake and pounding out prescription referrals. He ignores the buzz at first, squashing out any idea that it might be Jaehyun with the more logical explanation it’s either Taeyong or his brother, but curiosity gets the better of him about an hour later. He worries at his bottom lip, reading the message twice to let it sink in.

_What do I owe you?_ Something catches in Doyoung’s throat, propelling him to respond as fast as he can type it out.

_You don’t owe me anything. It was no problem, really._

He’s typing out a reply mere seconds later, but stops before anything’s sent. The dots come back up again before he can think to look away, and this time it goes through.

_I meant for this month’s sessions._

It’s embarrassment mixed with relief, but mostly embarrassment. Before he can defend himself, though, another message pops up on the screen.

_I don’t even know how to begin to repay you for that._

Doyoung doesn’t have to think about that for long.

_Just study well, that’s all the thanks I need._

His reply comes slower this time, erased and rewritten more times than Doyoung pays attention to, flickering off the screen after a few minutes and wrapping up the last bits of his work. It isn’t until he’s almost in bed that he notices he’s replied at all.

_I will, hyung._

Doyoung closes the thread just to reopen it again, to make sure he’s reading it right. It’s still there when he blinks. He perches himself cross-legged on his bed, resting his face in the palm of his hand. _Hyung._

_Ask whoever’s at the lobby for the amount tomorrow._ After a split-second to weigh his options, he tacks on, _Tell them to take off the first two weeks._

He doesn’t get to find out whether or not Jaehyun replies that night before he falls asleep with his phone in his hand.

 

 

Doyoung starts getting used to the look in Jaehyun’s eyes when he’s trying to see how far he’s allowed to go.

He’s also getting used to the exact tilt of his head, the exact wideness of his eyes, the exact curl of his lips that gets him to understand it’s a signal back that it’s okay, that he’s welcome, that he doesn’t have to hide. Slowly, repetition is shaving the microseconds from his wait time, the skepticism melting into acceptance, and the bricks falling down, one by one. It’s such a gradual process that Doyoung wouldn’t even notice if he weren’t trained to, but he does. Jaehyun knocks on the door on his own accord this week, without waiting for Doyoung to open it and enter the waiting room himself.

Jaehyun takes in the sight of Doyoung, backed propped up against the pillows, ankles crossed and a copy of the Herald in his hands, and asks that silent question of whether or not he can proceed in the way he wants. To that, Doyoung just sets the paper aside, straightens up, and reaches for his folder, because of course. Of course he can.

Jaehyun leaves his bag on the floor and crawls to his side, settling in against him without a word. For a moment, he lets the silence settle.

“I made an extra cup of coffee, if you want it,” Doyoung offers, gesturing to one of two mugs at his side. Jaehyun nods, and Doyoung passes it over to him, careful not to spill. Another minute passes, quiet, serene.

That’s the best indication that things are progressing in the right direction, in Doyoung’s opinion. It isn’t awkward to sit here like this, wordless, together. It’s just peaceful, the energy anticipatory more than unsure.

Jaehyun breaks the silence first, like Doyoung expects him to. “I saw that guy you were with when I was at the studio yesterday. Taeyong? I think that’s what he said his name was.”

“That’s him,” Doyoung replies, biting back a smile that’s not entirely without bitterness. “I hope he didn’t bother you. Let me know if he does.”

“You keep talking like you already know I’m going back,” Jaehyun observes, Doyoung noting the unassuming tone in what would sound like an accusation from practically anyone else. “But no, he just wished me luck before I went in. He’s your friend?”

“I don’t know anything,” Doyoung replies, straightening his folder with a shrug. “But, yes. You could say that.”

“A good friend to keep, then,” Jaehyun says, tone laced with _something_ , but not anything a specific emotion can be deciphered out of.

Doyoung gives a soft ‘hmm’ to that, thinking somewhere in the back of his mind that something about Jaehyun looks particularly beautiful today—there’s a glow in his cheeks, eyes bright and shoulders back. He looks like the young adult he is, poised and handsome. In just a month, Jaehyun’s already grown from the boy picking at his hoodie strings that first walked into his office. He’s still there, in the way he hesitates or chooses his words a little too carefully, in the way he draws in sometimes when he feels unsafe, but it’s progress. It’s subtle, but all things considered, leagues faster than Doyoung was hoping for on his initial assessment.

Anyone would be lucky to have him, he thinks. Especially once he learns to open up, especially if Doyoung can actually teach him something, can help give him that edge of certainty and trust and give him some peace of mind, pull back the layers and show him the best of himself… Even just as he is, even just with what he knows, there’s so much about him that Doyoung’s taken by. He wonders how anyone wouldn’t be.

(It’s not the first time that Doyoung’s considered he’s so good at wrapping up everything he thinks with a pretty bow of logic and sensibility that he blinds himself, but like all the times before, he brushes it aside before he can entertain the thought.)  

“Kyungsoo said he’s a producer when I asked,” Jaehyun remarks, bringing him back to reality with a jolt. Jaehyun blinks at him, and only then does Doyoung realize he’s been staring. All his fears about the implications of that are smoothed over when Jaehyun just flashes him back a smile, a little shy. Doyoung returns to staring at his coffee regardless. “I knew you had to have some sort of connection like that.”

Doyoung really, really shouldn’t say what he’s about to say, but Jaehyun’s cheekbones are tinged pink and he says it anyway. “It’s not like I pulled the strings. Taeyong was impressed enough to vouch for you without my help. I just set it up.”

Jaehyun parts his lips and Doyoung gets a look in his eyes and yeah, he really shouldn’t have done that. “A producer from SM was…” He sinks down until he’s half-laying across Doyoung’s chest. “Wow. Okay.”

Almost without thinking at all, Doyoung props him up just enough so he can place his hands on Jaehyun’s shoulders and digs into the muscle, gentle but firm. His breath hitches, Doyoung fighting past the uncertainty that comes with Jaehyun’s back straightening like a rod to press down deeper, down into his shoulder blades and up to the base of his neck until he finds that spot and Jaehyun _melts_. His muscles are wound tighter than he’s ever felt on anyone, but the boneless sort of way he sighs and falls back into Doyoung’s touch is all the encouragement he needs, pressing a little harder as Jaehyun speaks.

“You’re still not going to tell me what you thought, are you?” He asks, peering up at Doyoung over his shoulder. Doyoung just smiles back, closing his eyes.

“Not at all.” Jaehyun winces when Doyoung hits a spot just below his right shoulder blade, and he lightens his touch, soothing. Jaehyun hums.

“I’m still trying to wrap my head around this,” Jaehyun says after a minute, arching his back against Doyoung’s knuckles in a way that Doyoung can only think to describe as _cute_. “I just… I don’t know. I just assumed you’d bribed someone, or something.”

“If I was going to resort to that, I’d go all out.” Doyoung notices, but doesn’t react to Jaehyun’s hand creeping up to spread out across his thigh. Even if not reacting means watching a mental reenactment of the most awkward clinical he’d ever done with the intensity of a hawk. “I’d demand a recording contract for myself at that rate, I wouldn’t waste it on a safe bet.”

Jaehyun laughs, soft and content against his chest, and Doyoung tries to think about literally anything else. “What, are you that bad?”

“No,” Doyoung snips, too offended to even think about holding that comment back. Jaehyun’s making lazy circles with his fingertips over the outside of his leg, letting out something so close to a moan as Doyoung brushes against a place near his spine that he sees stars. “I’m pretty damn good, thank you very much.”

“You should sing for me, then.”

Jaehyun says it with all the causality of someone asking about the weather, so plain and unassuming that it feels like a knife is twisting in Doyoung’s chest, his fingers falling still and resting on Jaehyun’s shoulders. He takes a second to study his face, wondering if he has any idea at all what he’s just done, what he’s just assumed, what line he’s toeing.

Jaehyun’s eyes are wide, the color still in his face, and Doyoung is horrified because, no. He doesn’t know.

He doesn’t know at all.

And with that information, Doyoung has two choices.

He can draw the line darker, harsher, and in a way that leaves no ambiguity. They are not friends. They are not here for idle chatter, or to engage in anything that isn’t framed by business, pure and simple. Even though his practice and this process are far, far more lenient on the patient-doctor relationship and even encourages that kind of closeness and familiarity, what Jaehyun is doing on the edge of something much less formal, and Doyoung feels it. It settles something harsh and anxious in his core, the feeling that he’s pushing at the hold he has on him that’s keeping him an arm’s length away. He could say no. He could tell him his place, remind him that they are here for a reason. He could shut him down.

Or he couldn’t.

Jaehyun may not know what he’s doing, but he’s also not stupid. He’s tensed up again, because he knows that Doyoung is fully capable of that. He knows that it’s a possibility—he always knows that’s a possibility, Doyoung’s seen it in him before. It’s because of just how innocent his request is this time that Doyoung can’t help but feel that if he’s closes that door, he’ll take the hint, of course, but it might build his wall even higher, undo so much of the progress they’ve made. It’ll throw him off from his sense of what’s okay and what’s not, and there’s a danger that can’t be overstated in that.

Doyoung is, as he always is, what he feels that the person in front of him needs him to be. It’s what makes him as good at this as he is. It’s what allows him to devote his life to this. And maybe Jaehyun needs this from him. Maybe Jaehyun needs him to be closer.

One will hurt him now, and the other will hurt him later. And everything created equal, Doyoung has always had a horrible habit of procrastination.

Doyoung swallows, hating the sound of his own voice stuttering as he tries to smooth it all over. “We… We’ll see how today goes.”

“Alright.” Jaehyun closes his eyes, and when he opens them again there’s a focus Doyoung has only seen in him on stage. “Then what’s on the agenda for the day?”

He almost forgot that yes, he did, in fact do his job today and come in with a prepared lesson, and unfortunately, he intends to be responsible and follow through with it. Doyoung doesn’t need to look at his notes to remember it, but he picks them up anyway with one hand, pushing himself apart from Jaehyun so he can pretend to study it.

“I thought we’d focus today on communication, if that sounds good,” he explains, clearing his throat. In his absence, Jaehyun settles against the back of the futon, crossing his legs and folding his hands in attention.

“Again, I thought we were already doing that,” Jaehyun smiles, and Doyoung just rolls his eyes and bites down on the end of his pen, his worst and grossest nervous tic. “Sorry. That sounds good.”

“Most of therapy is just doing things we already know how to do,” Doyoung replies, setting his folder aside on the end table, and with it his last crutch. He shifts to sit across from him, close enough so their knees touch. “It’s just about learning how to do it better. In theory and all.”

“Right. In theory.” Jaehyun tosses his head, a stray piece of hair falling across his face. Doyoung just barely stops himself from putting it back in place.

“We can’t expect ourselves nor our partners to be fulfilled without being able to express clearly and openly our needs, or likes, our dislikes,” Doyoung explains, and Jaehyun nods, attentive and patient. Maybe it was the right move to dangle something over his head after all. “Most people are repeatedly, horribly bad at it. Probably because it’s kind of awkward and terrifying, or maybe because you don’t even want to say it in the first place.”

Jaehyun twitches at the last part, and Doyoung just watches him because yes, he thought so. He continues, clearing his throat. “But it’s important. And for our purposes, it’s the building block of what we’re doing here. Everything we work on relies on me having your consent, with your wants and desires loud and clear.”

“Okay,” Jaehyun says, slowly, leaning back on the palms of his hands. “Okay. I’m following.”

“Today, I want you to keep two goals in mind,” Doyoung feels his pulse spike and damn it, no, that’s the last thing he needs right now. What he needs, and more importantly, what Jaehyun needs, is calm. Collected. He’ll just have to act it out better. “One, work towards being comfortable both acknowledging those things and voicing them, in a setting free of judgment or pressures. But I also want you to use this to familiarize yourself with and become more comfortable with me. Every connection you make, including ours, is individual. What you feel comfortable doing with me or want from me is going to be different than anyone else. Building genuine communication during intimacy with anyone means exploring that dynamic.”

In training, he was bludgeoned over the head with it. One of the most important things in this line of work is being able to encourage the client that it’s okay to feel, and that it’s necessary to form that bond, both in trust and in intimacy. But somehow, Doyoung feels like at this point, it’s redundant. Not everyone meshes as well with him, or this, as Jaehyun does. In a way, he’s lucky.

He gives Jaehyun a space to reply if he needs, but he just worries at his bottom lip, waiting, or maybe hoping, for Doyoung to just keep talking instead. So he does. “Again, don’t push yourself, but the goal is to build on each exercise. If you can’t, that’s fine. But I want you to try. As always, let me know if something doesn’t feel right, or if you need to stop. Can you do that?”

Jaehyun starts to reply, Doyoung thinks, but his throat scratches dry and he has to take a moment to clear it with a cough, finally brushing that strand of hair back from his face. “Yeah. I can.”

“Lay down facing me,” Doyoung says, and he can already hear it in his voice as he lowers himself on his side, how his words feel like they’re coming through a tunnel in his own ears. He’s so good at this in maybe the worst way, being able to step back and go through the motions like he’s watching from afar, removed. More than most times, he needs it. Jaehyun follows, and he forces himself to focus on just the motion of it, not his eyes or his lips or the way his face looks. He just waits until he’s across from him again, and then speaks. “Remember last time, how I told you to rely on instinct and try to find what feels natural?”

Jaehyun nods, and Doyoung registers it out of his peripheral. “It’s that same principle, only instead of just doing what you want for yourself, you’re going to tell me. If you want me to touch you, if you want me to do something, if you want me to do nothing at all, but just communicate whatever it is. If it’s hard, or seems over the top to have to do, it’s okay. It’s supposed to be. If you freeze up, that’s okay, too. Just try to get back on track. I think it’s helpful to use the breath cadence we followed last time, but you don’t have to, and I won’t guide it unless you want. Is that all okay?”

He thinks he hears Jaehyun’s breath hitch, but he doesn’t dare focus on that enough to decide whether or not he imagined it. Instead, he listens, waiting for his breaths to even out and slow, and just as he reaches equilibrium he replies, “Alright. I understand.”

His chest rises and falls twice more, and then, “I think I’m ready.”

Doyoung feels that creeping sensation of being studied, but he’s staring at Jaehyun’s hand tucked underneath his ear, at his bitten nails and long fingers. When he speaks, his voice is a little soft and a lot of unsteady, but he enunciates every syllable like he means it. “How far is too far?”

Doyoung counts to three in his head before he lets himself speak, mulling over possible replies before choosing the only one he really trusts. “I’ll let you know if it gets to that point.”

The clock ticks past five seconds, Doyoung keeps track, before Jaehyun speaks again, barely above a whisper. “Put your hand on my face.”

There’s conviction there, however small, and as much as Doyoung wants to bring it out, the damage it’s already doing on his personal mission of serenity is enough to shake him. It takes him a beat for his body to respond to his thoughts, but through his intentionally blurred vision he traces his fingertips over Jaehyun’s cheekbone, spreading out his palm over his cheek. He’s warm to the touch, skin smooth, and he turns just a little into it, eyelashes falling against his knuckles. Doyoung can feel him breathing in time, and it doesn’t surprise him in the least. Of course he’d treat a suggestion like instruction.

Jaehyun’s slower to act this week, but Doyoung expected that. Action doesn’t seem to intimidate him when he can read the situation and assess what is and isn’t, in his mind, okay. Having to extend himself and announce before he’s able to get a feel for it all does. But everything Doyoung knows about him already told him that’d be the case. Still, he’s patient, working gentle circles with his thumb just underneath his eye as he wonders to himself if they were always that dark.

“I want you to kiss me,” he says it like it’s painful, which, if Doyoung’s understanding of what it’s like to be in his position is still accurate, it is. He feels for him, but even if it wasn’t motivated by wanting to temporarily relieve his misery, he still would want to.

(In a way, Doyoung’s lucky, too. He doesn’t always have someone who makes it this easy to want to be close to.)

Doyoung may be out of his element, but he’s still sane, and more importantly, he knows how to get this part right. He lets his vision clear and takes him in, Jaehyun still watching his every move as Doyoung calculates the angle, the exact distance his lips part, and leans in to match it, purposeful. Exact. This part, he didn’t have to learn in school. He’s self-taught, nights in dorm rooms and apartments and hazy night clubs turning him into an expert in the art of knowing how to give just enough. It’s automatic at this point—taking in the details, understanding what’s needed of him, and becoming it. It’s not that hard, after a while.

It doesn’t always hurt him anymore. Not in the way it used to. But something in the way Jaehyun hitches a breath as their lips meet, the way reaches around to pull him in by the back of the neck, the way he doesn’t let him pull back too far after… It’s nostalgic, the way his chest tugs, something sad and nameless jumbling his up his thoughts. He makes sure it’s a little deeper than the last, but just as quick. Just as painless. He’s good at this, and being good at it means pretending like there’s nothing in his head at all.

Jaehyun isn’t all that different from him, he decides.

“One more?” Jaehyun asks, and Doyoung can’t deny him that, either. He lets Jaehyun be the first to pull away this time, and he keeps them together longer than Doyoung would allow, if he were in control. But he’s not, and for now, Jaehyun isn’t doing anything he’d have to stop. So he doesn’t make him.

His chest feels wind tighter with each swipe of Jaehyun’s tongue against the back of his teeth, but otherwise, it’s not so bad, passing the seconds like this, and when he pulls back, it’s like the switch in Jaehyun has flipped again. He’s found some sort of balance, the anxiety radiating off of him less intense.

Strangely enough, it’s easier for Doyoung to let himself look at him, now. He tries not to look at his mouth, though, a red and a little swollen. Yeah. It’s better not to focus on that.

“Can you hit the light?” He asks, and Doyoung just stares at him, the gymnast that now permanently resides inside his stomach attempting a backflip. “It’s really bright, and I keep having to stare at it.”

“Oh,” Doyoung says, because of course. “Right. One second.”

He takes the time to cross over to the door, hit the main switch, and then click on the shade lamp on his desk to cool off, brushing his hair back out of his face and heave a sigh once his back is turned. When he faces him again, Jaehyun’s on his back, chewing on the nail of his index finger and staring up at the ceiling. He lays that hand across his chest as soon as he notices Doyoung approaching, though, steadying himself up against one of the throw pillows.

“I could have just asked you to block it out, I guess.” He says, offhand, but Doyoung gets the feeling he does know what he’s suggesting this time.

“You should be more direct,” Doyoung reminds him, but he crawls up over him anyway, hands on either side of his shoulders and knees parallel to his hips, as far away from his body as he can without arching his back. Jaehyun blinks up at him, expectant. A student waiting for his lesson. “But that works for now.”

“I’m not good at this,” Jaehyun says, like both of them don’t already know that. But it’s okay. It really is. “If you can’t tell.”

“No one is,” Doyoung laughs, and that gets Jaehyun to crack a smile, too. “You don’t need to be perfect at it today, or ever. Just do your best.”

“It’s never going to be this easy with anyone else.” Doyoung barely manages to understand it, Jaehyun muttering so low it’s almost like he’s talking to himself, even though he’s staring right at him. “This is as straightforward as it’s ever going to get. That’s the point, isn’t it?”

Doyoung’s resolve doesn’t break, but it cracks. “It’s supposed to be easier afterwards, out there. This is the hard part for most people.”

Jaehyun looks at him like he’s really seeing him for the first time, and it chills him to the bone. Even in the heat of the room, he shivers, watching as Jaehyun’s eyes narrow—not in anger, but like he’s just put something together, something that he didn’t know before.

It looks like clarity.

Doyoung doesn’t want to know what it is.

Jaehyun reaches up to smooth out the collar of Doyoung’s shirt, and he doesn’t move an inch, even as his hand travels down and he loops two fingers under the fold where his tie would have gone, had he not taken it off before he came.

“You said it yourself, though,” Jaehyun says, thoughtful, seeming to chew on every word. “This is the safest space for something like this.”

“I did.” Wherever his mind is going with this, it can’t be good. But everything Doyoung’s ever been taught tells him he needs to entertain it, that it would be worse if he cut him off. He can’t run just because Jaehyun’s boxed him in with his own words. “But if you can learn how somewhere without risk, you’ll have the tools to be able to in the real world.”

“Of course.” Jaehyun just smiles at him, and if Doyoung sees any bitterness, or even sadness in it at all, it’s gone by the time he blinks, replaced with neutral understanding. “That makes sense.”

When Doyoung closes his eyes, he can all but see that wall getting built up another layer of bricks, stacked right up on top of the rest. And suddenly, the dread he feels at that outweighs the rest of the white noise. “But if you feel comfortable here, that’s good. That’s important.”

“I do,” Jaehyun replies, simple, and there’s a small part of Doyoung that thinks he might just be relieved to get to say it. “You’re good at that. Making people feel comfortable.”

What Doyoung wants to say is, _You only have yourself as a frame of reference._

But he can’t say that. He wouldn’t dare even if it were an option.

Instead, he just replies, “I think we’ve gotten off-topic.”

“Right,” Jaehyun drawls, but he can’t fool Doyoung into think he’s forgotten when he’s pulled his knee up to rest against Doyoung’s waist and staring at his mouth again. He’s not as subtle as he thinks. Doyoung wasn’t either, when he was his age.

He always seems to remember that at the worst times, but whatever train of thought that could take him down is interrupted by Jaehyun’s voice, somewhere nearer to his ear than the last time. He sounds about as tired as Doyoung feels, but there’s a fight in it. For better or worse, he’s found that conviction. “All I really want right now is to keep kissing you. I’m sorry. That’s what I feel I can handle.”

Maybe, if it were a different day, or a different person, he’d push back. He’d tell him not to rest on his laurels, and to try and progress, even if just a little. But he doesn’t want to fight him. He doesn’t want to fracture whatever fragile, unspoken truce they’re walking around. Not today. “Okay. That’s okay.”

Jaehyun pulls him down, and Doyoung has to give him credit, he really does. He’s a quick learner. Nothing about the way he kisses is desperate, nothing about him is needy, or even relaxed. It’s knife-precise and just as sharp, every single place their bodies meet angled just so, each brush against teeth or tongue with just enough pressure to ache, but never so much that it’s painful. It’s heavy and hot and hurts like hell, but if it didn’t burn so badly, Doyoung thinks he might be proud.

Jaehyun isn’t kissing him for leisure, and knowing that is the only thing that keeps him sane as his relaxes into his touch, his wandering hands on the small of his back. He’s calculating something, testing in the very way Doyoung’s modeled, trying to decide something in the purposeful way every single motion is executed. And that’s the point. That’s what he’s here for.

That’s what he needs to be.

The clock chimes at the hour sometime in the haze, and when they part, Jaehyun’s breath is heavy, Doyoung fighting dizziness as he straightens up, pulse thrumming. For a moment, it’s back to that serene, not-uncomfortable quiet from when he first walked in, but Doyoung can feel it just as well as he guesses Jaehyun can by the way he runs a hand back through his hair and tries to look anywhere else in the room but him. Doyoung doesn’t have the words, but he doesn’t think Jaehyun needs them. Not the ones he could give.

“You still need to sing for me,” Jaehyun says as he swings his legs over to touch the floor, picking up his bag from underneath the end table. “Otherwise I’ll just keep believing you’re terrible.”

“Remind me next time,” Doyoung replies, because he suddenly needs to hear it. _Please say you will. Please say everything’s fine._

“I will,” he nods back, and when he smiles, it’s genuine and bright. Doyoung feels something shift into place, but he has no idea where. “I’ll see you next week, then.”

Doyoung waits until he hears the last footstep echo down the hall before he folds his head into his hands, puts his knees up to his chest, and just breathes.

He just breathes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this chapter was about 60% weird late-night google searches and 40% actual writing, but on the bright side I haven't written a proper slow burn in like half a decade, so if nothing else following a process this drawn out keeps me in check. 
> 
> I've been reading everything in the comments and I just want to say how much I appreciate all of the feedback to no end. Knowing that there are people other than the friends I've blackmailed into reading this who enjoy it and look forward to more is seriously really motivating. Thank you all so much for the support, for real. (And thank you to the friends I've blackmailed, too.)


	4. Chapter 4

In the days that follow, Doyoung does what he’s always done best: active, conscious denial.

For several precious turns of the sun, the entire concept of Jung Jaehyun does not exist to him. Gone. Non-existent.

Well, that’s not exactly fair. Doyoung thinks about him. But he has the luxury not to, which he considers the same thing at the end of the day. His phone doesn’t light up with Jaehyun’s name, and none of his weekend work concerns him at all. As it turns out, Jaehyun has to reschedule his appointment with Taeil for what Taeyong informs him is a second meeting with Kyungsoo, so to the relief of Doyoung’s schedule, there’s no meeting about him, either. It’s blissful, stress-free work, and Doyoung’s on top of the world.

When he thinks about Jaehyun at all, it’s in flickers, half-developed images behind his eyes and intruding thoughts in between other passing trains in his mind. It’s the way Jaehyun sighs into the couch in his office when Doyoung’s settling down for bed, or the way he crinkles his nose and turns away when Doyoung laughs at something he says, interrupting the silence of his other sessions. Things like that. Things he could think about with anyone, really, or at least anyone like Jaehyun.

Anyone would, if they were Doyoung. He can’t be held accountable to being haunted by Jaehyun’s intricacies when he spends so much time, so much energy so close. He can’t paint himself into a corner with shame or wear his desire to understand and know him like a scarlet letter. The thrill of seeing Jaehyun open up into him can’t be purely academic. He can’t just remove the personal element of it, of growing fond of certain clients, of taking a deeper interest in their well being, in their life and dreams. It’s never _just work_ , not with someone like this. It’d take something stronger than him. It’d take something inhuman.

And Doyoung’s not that person. He’s just a man who makes a living getting close enough to people to break down some of the densest, strongly held barriers the mind can create. Of course Jaehyun’s under his skin. It’d say something worse about Doyoung if he weren’t.

That’s his story, and he’s sticking to it.

In a shocking twist of events, his supportive, ever-loyal friends are not so eager to jump on the same page.

“You need to invest in eye-brightener,” Taeyong remarks over drinks in his high-rise studio flat Tuesday night, reaching across the mini-bar to run his index finger over the admittedly prominent bags under Doyoung’s eyes. He flinches away, smacking at Taeyong’s hand with a scowl that earns him nothing but a laugh in return. Out of the corner of his vision, Yuta quirks an eyebrow and grabs some water from the fridge, trying not to be obvious about how he’s clearly listening in. “If you’re not sleeping again, I swear to God.”

“He sleeps?” Yuta asks, sliding back at Taeyong’s side with a grin. Doyoung doesn’t know if Yuta looks so… at ease in Taeyong’s apartment because Yuta looks like he belongs everywhere, or because he’s actually at ease, but Doyoung doesn’t have any interest in contemplating that question too long. “You’ve looked like a zombie for so long I forgot you might have a different setting.”

“You’re both just _so_ funny.” Doyoung frowns as emphatically as his facial muscles will possibly allow, leaning over the countertop on his elbows. “If you’re going to give me the sleep schedule lecture, maybe don’t invite me over on a weekday.”

The truth is he came because he really, really wanted to have an excuse to do literally anything else than sit in his apartment and think about his life, which has turned into his favorite hobby lately when it’s not interrupted by social events or work. With the pre-holiday season making the former scarcer and the latter increasingly overwhelming, well, he’s hardly in a position to say no. With Yuta in the same boat, he knows he can’t be alone in that. Between their obligations and the bomb of a comeback rotation SM dropped on Taeyong for next year, they all need it.

Granted, the both of them have seemed a bit healthier emotionally since their social circles started to cross paths. Just a few months ago, Taeyong probably wouldn’t have commented on Doyoung’s exhaustion levels out of fear of being a hypocrite. But time, as always, marches on, this time in the direction of stolen glances when they think Doyoung isn’t looking, in Yuta’s jacket draped over the back of Taeyong’s couch, in the soft glow of that rushed newness.

Come January, it will have been a year since he and Taeyong called it off. It’d be a lie to say he doesn’t feel anything anymore, and a very, serious part of him believes that he will probably be a little in love with him forever. It comes with the territory, winding up with a first love and feeling like it’s going to be the last. That person always takes up a corner, marked off and exclusive.

Sometimes he’ll still catch himself thinking about how Taeyong looked in the mornings, sleep-addled and beautiful, or the way he felt under him or the sounds he’d make when Doyoung had him right up against the edge, or any point in between when he’s not paying attention. The thought of him, of either of them, being with someone else again used to make him nauseous at night, the anxiety over that nostalgia being tainted almost too much to take. He never wanted to trap them in the past. He’s old enough not to get caught up in romanticizing something that destructive, especially when the past year has proven that platonic is how they were meant to be from the start. But he was afraid of a lot of things on his own, for a while.

Taeyong was always destined to have an easier go of it afterwards. Doyoung’s never said it, and Taeyong would deny it if he did, but he doesn’t have to. Maybe part of the reason he kept work segregated from the rest of his life for so long is because Taeyong’s so hard not to love, and he didn’t want to see someone else start to feel what he felt while he was still trying to talk himself out of his unjustified sense of ownership over an emotion. He knew this day would come, though. It was never rocket science.

He expected it to hurt like the day they left, but as he watches Yuta lean up against Taeyong out of the corner of his eye, he’s not too shocked to find it doesn’t after all. Doyoung’s not sure when that switch flipped, or if he was even aware of it at all until now, yet somehow it’s how it’s supposed to be, just a tinge of bittersweet mixed with optimism and happiness for someone who, at the end of the day, means more to him than he can explain. Yeah, he still loves him. And after twelve months of standing on this awful, juvenile precipice, the biggest relief is that despite it, time marches on.  

The phrase ‘over it’ isn’t something Doyoung would ever employ, not in his practice and certainly not in his own life. It’s just the sense that for the first time, it’s not his place anymore. The truth is, this part of Taeyong’s life, and by extension this part of his own life, just really isn’t his business.

It’s liberating. It’s the freedom he would have killed for a year ago. Like all forms of release, it carries its own anxieties.

Right now, though, he’s just a little proud of himself.

Taeyong heaves a dramatic sigh, bringing him back to reality and shattering whatever introspective tirade Doyoung would have been lead on otherwise. “Worrying about you is shaving years off my life, you know.”

“No one asked you to,” Doyoung fires back out of reflex, shooting a glare over the rim of his glass, which he has been woefully ignoring since he arrived. None of them are drinking all that much, though. “I’m fine. Really.”

Taeyong and Yuta share a look, and it’s unnerving how he’s right on the edge of knowing what it means, but he still doesn’t have a single clue. Taeyong sticks a straw in Doyoung’s drink, knowing he won’t object. “How’s work been?”

“Great,” Doyoung replies, monotone. It sounds harsh even to his own ears, so he tries to fuse some life into it, to mixed results. “It’s just a little… you know, it’s a busy time.”

“How’s Jaehyun?” Taeyong asks, and Doyoung stalls, freezing with his hand halfway to his glass. If he refuses to give any body language signals and just think, maybe, just maybe, it’ll make what’s going through his head a little less obvious and give him time to act normal. By the time he succeeds, it’s too late, the corners of Taeyong’s mouth curling upwards.

“See, I told you he’d react.” Yuta tosses his hair back, leaning his back up against the bar and turning to Taeyong with a slight edge of smugness. It fades within seconds.

“’Soo told me something interesting the other day,” Taeyong hums, and Doyoung hates when he gets like this, because he can’t read him like he’s used to. Taeyong finds something that makes sense in his head and runs with it, because he has a plan, and that plan usually ends up with Doyoung pinned down by his own words without the first clue how or why it happened. Taeyong’s always been able to see what very few others can. “That he gave him a page out of a piece to look over on the first day, and your boy came back with the entire thing practiced and fully memorized.”

“Why do you keep calling him that?” Doyoung snaps, because it’s itching under his skin something bad tonight, and he can’t help it. “I don’t own him. I’m glad he’s nailing it, but he’s smart. What’s interesting about it?”

“Because Kyungsoo said he has someone he wants to show,” Taeyong replies, like it answers every question he’s just posed. Doyoung doesn’t even agree, but the way he says it, like it’s so damning, like it’s so final, sends a chill up his spine anyway. He looks down at his hands, over across the room, anywhere he’ll find a distraction from the overwhelming, lead-heavy feeling of dread. He doesn’t find one.

It’s frustrating, thinking about all the words he could be saying to deter this. There’s five phrases just on the tip of his tongue, ten different ways he could steer the conversation to ease the tension that’s settling in the room, to clear up his name and whatever assumptions Taeyong’s making. It’d be so easy. It’d be so much simpler. But Doyoung is tired. And none come out.

Yuta’s boring eyes into his skull, Taeyong putting off that air of quiet expectancy, and Doyoung crumples under the pressure with undoubtedly the most useless thing he could possibly say. “Well, then.”

“Well, then,” Taeyong echoes, leaning forward and placing his chin in the palm of his hand, cocking his head to the side. “So, Doyoungie. How is Jaehyun really?”

His answer of ‘fine’ clearly doesn’t pass whatever test Taeyong is giving him, the disappointment flashing clear in his eyes, purposeful. Yuta, for his part, is unreadable, and that scares him a hell of a lot more than the fireworks show of judgment Taeyong is sending his way in waves. But somehow, both are still overshadowed by just how little he’s prepared to touch this entire subject. So he sticks to his guns. It’s fine.

Taeyong drops the subject after that, but he doesn’t need to say anything else for the message to be heard loud and clear. It’s over for now, but it’s far from off his radar. Normally, it’d make him almost nonfunctional with nerves. As it stands, it feels like relief. He has another day to push it out of his head, another day where nothing’s serious enough for Taeyong to keep pressing on it, and another day to keep himself afloat and, God-willing, sane.

Taeyong could keep at it, hound the subject until it’s a screaming match and someone breaks down, until it’s two in the morning and they’re both exhausted and think they’ll never hate anyone else on Earth more than each other. He could drag it out, make it a production, turn on him enough times to ruin his alibi, his morale, his guard. Taeyong’s capable of that, at least where he’s concerned. Doyoung knows that.

But that’s not the Taeyong that’s standing in front of him anymore. If Taeyong really wanted to know the answer, he’d just have to press the right buttons, and Doyoung has a horrible feeling he’d be talking within the hour.

But Taeyong doesn’t, because he doesn’t need to hear it. That’s probably the worst sign of all, but as always, it’s fine.

It’s easy to continue believing it’s fine for about fifteen more hours, give or take.

Then he meets Chittaphon, and it all comes crashing down.

 

 

The chain of events that leads up to it is no one’s fault, really. Even the elaborate game of finger-pointing Doyoung undertakes ends up so convoluted that it’s ultimately blameless, save for one, clear instigator.

Himself.

As far as cosmic irony goes it’s poetic really, and once again proves beyond a shadow of a doubt that the universe will always, always find a way to maximize his suffering. Maybe one day, he’ll look back and laugh at how it all played out. But right now, he’s just vaguely hoping he’ll deatomize into dust and cease his awful, torturous corporeal existence.

He’s being dramatic. But to be fair, that’s the only response he’s got left in his coping arsenal that’s socially appropriate, and he is way, way too old for this.

It starts with Taeyong, because everything starts with Taeyong, who heard it from one of his trainees named Kun. He passed it on to Yuta, which is how Doyoung ended up at the little, independent corner café two subway stops away from the offices with his coworker on Wednesday’s lunch break. It seemed innocuous at first—Yuta’s foreigner-fueled exuberance hasn’t dry out despite the decade he’s lived in Seoul and he rarely wants to go to the same place twice. There was no reason for Yuta to disclose where he got the suggestion from, and there was no reason for Doyoung to ask. He would call that mistake number one, but that’s irrational. It was just unfortunate.

What Doyoung doesn’t know is that the trainee Taeyong heard about the place from takes vocal lessons right after Jaehyun, who passed off the recommendation because his roommate-slash-bandmate Johnny Seo is a shift manager there. The grapevine of Seoul, especially with Doyoung as well connected as he is, is long and impossible to follow. It could have lead potentially hundreds of different directions down to the source, and for all Doyoung knows it has, completely under his radar. It’s not something he thinks about, because usually it doesn’t lead back to the one person in the world he can’t allow himself to have anything to do with and everyone involved his personal life.

Maybe it’d be easier if there really were someone to blame. But Doyoung toed the line, and now he’s paying the price of his connections. The dots were on the grid. It’s not unthinkable that the line got drawn in.

When he first walks in, he doesn’t even register the danger at first. Yuta’s brushing snow off their shoulders and the soft-dimmed lights hanging from the wooden rafters make the tiny shop soothing, almost romantic. There’s not a lot of seating, but it’s a decently busy establishment, cozy with leather armchairs and used books, a constituency of college students and younger professionals. It isn’t until they approach the counter and the tall, broad-shouldered barista turns to them that Doyoung starts to gather anything is out of the ordinary at all.

The sequence the sight of it takes him through is fast and damning, each piece falling into place one by one. First comes the sinking sensation of familiarity, a face and situation just on the tip of his tongue but not quite coming together. Second is that exact same sensation mirrored in the eyes of the man behind the counter, his lips parting. He pauses to stare, trying to make heads or tails of whatever he sees in Doyoung’s face. Third is the name tag, a simple, chalk-drawn ‘Johnny’ sealed off with book tape, and it hits him. Just like that, each domino falling one after another.

Any hope Doyoung has of being wrong is dashed when Johnny blinks at him and observes in the least subtle way possible, “Your name is Doyoung, right?”

Death would be preferable.

If Doyoung were smart, he’d lie and say that no, it’s not, move on with his life, and refuse to add yet another poor choice on top of an ever-expanding catalogue of poor choices. But despite the PhD, the horrible reality of his life is that he manages to lost his wits when the right answer is easiest.

He says nothing. Long enough for it to be awkward. Long enough for both Yuta and the man in front of him to grow a little concerned. And in response to those conditions, he just sighs. “That’s…. Yeah. That’s me.”

“Oh,” Doyoung has absolutely no idea what he expected Johnny to do, but he just grins, picks up a paper cup and produces a sharpie out of his apron, all business. “That’s cool. Can I get your order?”

Doyoung can’t deny he’s a little thrown off by that, staring at him with his jaw slack and acting probably decades younger than his actual age. A teenager would at least be able to comprehend the situation, and even that’s way beyond him. Yuta, his angel, his savior, seems to sense this, and takes up the responsible adult role in his absense. “One black Americano and one dark roast vanilla misto.”

He slides out his wallet, but Yuta just shakes his head, sliding Johnny his credit card without bothering to hear the total first. It’s not beyond him that Yuta’s generosity always comes with a caveat, though, and it’s all the energy he can muster to straighten his shoulders and act like nothing about this interaction has bothered him at all.

It’s a miracle, but by the time they make their way to the other end of the counter to wait he’s got his mask back on, calm as can be. Or as calm as he can pretend to be.

Yuta doesn’t need to ask about anything, because Doyoung knows the second they find a table, it’ll be the first thing on his lips. The fact that they both know that makes the silence tick slow, Johnny sliding his way over to the espresso machine with a whistle. For a blissful moment of reprieve, it’s just the hum of the beans grinding and the dull roar of the shop behind them, but as soon as he fully appreciates the feeling, it’s gone, Johnny gesturing behind him with a tilt of his head.

“Hey, Chittaphon,” he addresses somewhere over to his right, where there’s three stools set up in a mini-bar adjacent from the espresso machines just paces away from where Doyoung’s standing. Only the stool closest to the handoff plane is occupied, taken up by a slight, wide-eyed man with too-long sleeves and no less than seven piercings per ear, pre-occupied with something on his laptop screen.

It takes a second call of his name, but he finally stirs, looking up from his MacBook and tossing his headphones around his neck with a soft hum. Once Johnny seems convinced he’s listening, he continues, glancing at Doyoung over his shoulder. “That’s one of the guys Jay was talking about.”

“Wait, the producer?” The boy asks, in a voice just soft enough to save the otherwise nasally quality of it from being grating. His Korean is accented and a little slow, but his words are clear and kind on the ears. He’s so caught up in listening to it Doyoung doesn’t even realize they’re still talking about him until Yuta elbows him in the shoulder, sharp.

“No, the other one.” Johnny slides the Americano he just finished making over the counter, and Yuta snatches it up with the precision and force of a sniper, grabbing a sleeve and placing his free hand on Doyoung’s shoulder with one fluid motion, muttering something about finding a seat.

Doyoung searches his eyes, looking for some sign on whether or not the name _Jay_ means something to him the way it does to Doyoung, but he knows better than to try and decipher anything out of Yuta’s easy, default smile. It’s up in the air whether it’s mercy, espionage, torture, or some mix of the three on his part to leave him alone with these two, but whatever it is, Doyoung feels completely unarmed the second he turns on his heel to walk away.

Chittaphon’s eyes are on him, and even though Johnny has his back turned to attend to Doyoung’s own drink, his might as well be, too, with all the intensity radiating off of him in Doyoung’s direction. He feels more than a little naked, a sensation that only intensifies with Chittaphon’s exclamation of, “Oh, _that_ one. I see.”

“Sorry, Jaehyun pointed you out in the audience, so I remember your face.” Johnny hands him a coffee sleeve and passes over his drink. Doyoung stares blankly for precious seconds before he manages to wrap his head around that, steadying his hands from shaking. There’s no reason to be this thrown off, there’s no reason at all. That mantra works for about two seconds before Johnny addresses him again, “My name’s Johnny Seo, by the way, and this is Chittaphon. We’re his roommates.”

The boy across from him inclines his head, offering him an almost blindingly bright smile. Doyoung gives his best imitation of one in return, feeling inadequate in the very art of moving his facial muscles in comparison.

“It’s nice to meet you, really. I should get going.” The necessary cordial rejection of familiarity is on the tip of his tongue, but somewhere along the line, it gets jumbled. He gestures vaguely over his shoulder, and the pair just nod back, though he can’t help but feel like he’s being watched every step of the way as he crosses the room over to where Yuta’s found a booth. He doesn’t have the energy to look over his shoulder and check.

Yuta eyes him with weariness as he slides in opposite him, Doyoung biting down on his lip and doing his best to ignore him as he shrugs off his jacket and folds it on the seat at his side, something close to all-consuming exhaustion settling in like a cloud over his head. Yuta reaches out and tugs at Doyoung’s hand, bringing it across the table until it’s right in between them, fingers folded over his. It’s only then Doyoung manages to meet his eyes. “Hey. Doyoung, listen.”

He squares his shoulders and does his best to act like there’s nothing in the world that could warrant Yuta’s concern right now, forcing the corners of his lips upward. “What’s up?”

Yuta’s hands are smooth and surprisingly slight, warm against Doyoung’s own. The heat makes it easy to drown out the rest of the shop, the soft cadence of his words bringing him in until it’s easy to just listen to him talk, to absorb his words like the professional adult he is. Doyoung focuses on breathing in and out, heavy and long. “I want you to know that I haven’t asked, and that Taeyong would never tell me. You don’t have to either if you don’t want. But I’m not stupid, Doyoung. I’m not asking as a coworker, I’m not trying to trap you, I’m just asking as a friend who understands the position you’re in. What exactly is going on here?”

In a startling moment of clarity, he tells the truth. He keeps his head down and his words low, but he tells the truth.

Or as much of it as he knows how to tell.

“Taeyong and I saw him right after our first session,” Doyoung begins, licking his chapped lips in a nervous tick. He feels Yuta’s eyes on him still, but it’s that soft sort of presence, not watchful or judgmental. It’s just patient. He can see why he and Taeyong would get along. They both get so quiet when they listen. “He’s a musician, but I didn’t know that. It was never brought up. It’s… It turns out he’s good, so I referred him to a coach that works with Taeyong.”

“Taeyong could have done that, if you had told him to,” Yuta remarks, and Doyoung hates how much harder it stings without any emotion behind it. It’s just a fact, not an accusation. Doyoung thinks it’d be a lot easier of a pill to swallow if it were. But Yuta is as neutral and smooth as ever, rubbing a small circle on Doyoung’s wrist with his thumb as he talks, absentminded. “But you chose to instead.”

“I wanted to earn his trust,” Doyoung replies, barely above a whisper. It sounds so pathetic in his own ears now that he says it out loud, and in a way, realizing his motive for the first time at all. But it makes more sense than anything else, not that he’s even thought of an excuse beyond the logistics. “You don’t see him, so you wouldn’t know, but Taeil says it took weeks for him to open up even a little. I don’t have that kind of time with what I do, and it just seemed like it would work.”

Yuta considers this for a moment, humming quietly. “Did it?”

“Yeah,” Doyoung mutters, hanging his head low enough for his bangs to obscure his vision, because it’s the only protection he has. “He’s grateful, he really is. I don’t hear anything about it beyond snippets, and I don’t have any involvement. As if that makes it any better, I know.”

“Is it because you wanted him to be grateful to you?” Yuta asks, just as stinging and precise as Doyoung expects. The force of it makes him recoil but, but for once, he’s at least confident in his answer.

“No,” the conviction is reassuring, because the more he thinks about it, the more he really does mean it. He shakes his head, forcing his eyes up. “No, it’s not that. I just wanted to convey that I wasn’t going to reject him.”

Yuta pauses at this, quirking an eyebrow and squaring his shoulders back with a small ‘oh’, which is either very good or very bad, as far as Doyoung’s concerned. It makes him less nervous than he anticipates waiting to find out which. “He seemed worried about that?”

Doyoung nods, once. “Sometimes still, I think. I don’t know why. I’m working on it.”

He considers this for a moment, but he’s only silent just long enough for him to cross his arms over the table, leaving Doyoung to sink back into the booth. “Maybe because you’re someone he wouldn’t want to be rejected by in general.”

“What do you mean?” Doyoung asks, feeling his body grow heavier with each word. For once, he wishes he could just go back to bed instead of attend to his afternoon appointments.

“You tell me,” Yuta shrugs, sipping at his Americano with closed eyes. He opens them only to stare outside the window, past the soft glow of the lamps and hanging lights into the grey afternoon of Seoul. “I don’t know how I feel. But I guess it’s good that Taeil made the decision to make it happen and not me, then.”

Doyoung doesn’t really know what to say to that, other than maybe, ‘that’s fair’, but he’d rather not hang himself on his own words. “It’s just an adjustment. I have to treat a kid differently than I do someone twenty years my senior. There’s a first time for everything, believe me.”

“Yeah, I get it.” Yuta nods, still looking somewhere off to the side, restless in the way he moves in his seat. He rolls his shoulders back, facing him again. “But it’s not my business anyway, I was just curious. I just wanted you to make sure you’re doing alright.”

“I am, Yuta. I promise,” he puts as much conviction it as he can without verging on the manic or overbearing. He’s not sure how successful he is, but it’s the effort that counts. “Thank you. You know, for caring.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” He asks, genuinely curious. Doyoung shrinks down into the seat, embarrassed despite himself by the sincerity in his voice. “Taeyong does too, I promise. We’ve both been… well, I don’t know. It’s kind of weird. You look so much happier and so much more stressed out at the exact same time.”

He leaves it at that in a way only Yuta can, by taking a sip and completely changing the subject around in a 180. From there, he pivots into an anecdote about a truly disturbing emergency room visit he had to accompany a patient on a few years back, keeping their chatter substanceless down to the second they have to head back to the offices. On his way out, Doyoung swings by the handoff plane again to grab a drink stopper while Yuta waits at the door, but before he can turn back around on his heel, a thin finger taps his shoulder.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” Chittaphon has his headphones around his neck again, peering down at him with what Doyoung can only describe as wide-eyed curiosity. Doyoung hesitates, weighs his options, and hides a sigh behind his hand.

“Sure,” he replies, because there’s something about him that makes it seem almost impossible to say no. “I don’t have too long, but go ahead.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep it quick.” His smile doesn’t falter until he leans down close enough to Doyoung to be a little uncomfortable, his voice taking on a more serious tone. He worries at his bottom lip, and out of the corner of Doyoung’s eye he sees Johnny glance their way, peeking over his shoulder as he attends to a latte. “Jaehyun won’t say it, but he really trusts you. I know it’s probably bad of me to hassle you in public, but I just wanted to thank you. For whatever it is. That’s all.”

“Of course.” Doyoung’s mouth feels dry, and when he swallows it feels like a knife is scratching at the back of his throat, but he manages to put some empathy into it, keeping his countenance professional. “I’m glad to hear it.”

The way Chittaphon looks at him right before he turns to catch up with Yuta makes him feel like he’s a secret he’s all too excited to spill, like he sees something new. But the more Doyoung thinks about it, the more it might be that it’s just the way someone like Chittaphon looks at everyone. Still, he can’t help but have those eyes burned into the back of his mind as he makes his way back through to the offices, Yuta continuing to lead the conversation in a winding road far, far away from anything to do with Jaehyun or anything that had just happened in the last hour of their lives. Doyoung’s sure he’ll regret not defending himself later. He knows himself. But for now, he’s grateful, and he’s grown fond of taking things one step at a time.

He steps out of the shower that night to his phone vibrating from a text, but he takes his time finishing up his nightly routine before he even allows himself to take a peek at it. It’s not until he’s heading to bed that he flicks open the lock screen, a text from Jaehyun right at the top.

_Sorry about my friends. They should know better._

Doyoung rakes a hand back through his still-damp hair, stifling a sigh. He types out his reply with his tongue in between his teeth. _Not a problem. It happens more than you’d think. It’s not your fault._

It doesn’t actually happen all that often, but it’s happened before, albeit under completely different conditions, so it’s not technically a lie. If it keeps Jaehyun from assigning himself the blame, it’s worth it in Doyoung’s eyes.

The reply comes faster than Doyoung’s used to. _There’s something I want to talk with you about tomorrow. Can we do that?_

There’s nothing about it that makes his pulse spike, and if there is, he ignores it, because he’s an adult, and this is just his job. There’s no room for anxiety when he knows what he has to say like the back of his hand. _Of course. See you then._

 

 

His sleep isn’t fantastic that night. When he dreams at all, it’s in quick sprints in between restlessness. Come morning, it’s all just flashes of pictures and emotion—something about the cold and a small fire and hands, nothing he can really put a story or meaning to. But it weighs heavy on his chest, and there’s a warmth inside of him that wasn’t there before. It carries out through the day, his world soft and clouded despite a fluttering sort of anticipation that shades his movements.

The morning passes by in a haze, each moment and each appointment barely lasting in his memory longer than a few minutes after it comes to an end. It’ll lead to some awkward questions the next week, but even if he had the energy to try and force himself to focus, he doubts it’d be all that successful. He stays in for lunch, just coffee and a package of saltines he found in his drawer, which he spends debating whether or not to pull out the futon. Eventually he decides to make it up, if only because it’s more comfortable, and it’s not like Jaehyun isn’t used to seeing it anyway. It’s finished with moments to spare, a knock on his door interrupting his obsessive straightening of the throw pillows.

Jaehyun is about smaller than Doyoung’s ever seen him, shadowed purple under-eyes, unkempt hair, and rounded shoulders making him look worn-down enough to be mistaken for his actual age. Without thinking, Doyoung reaches out with a hand around his upper arm to pull him inside before he can even speak, stepping into him in order to shut the door behind. There’s always a part of Doyoung that can’t help but feel inexplicably protective over him, and it’s worse today than he can ever remember it being, only his thin grip on his sanity keeping him from pulling Jaehyun into his chest and just holding on. But he wants it so bad it scares him, and that fear pushes him back.

Jaehyun matches it, reclaiming the distance Doyoung created before he can blink. It’s a quiet sort of dance, and Doyoung isn’t leading.

“It’s absolutely freezing out there,” Jaehyun mutters, cheeks and nose tinged red as evidence. He gently wrenches his shoulder away from Doyoung, hands finding a hold on his red woven scarf. He lets it fall away from his neck, raveling it up around his arm and setting it on the end table with a sigh. “Is the heat on?”

Doyoung nods, taking advantage of the distance to back up against the futon and take a seat, propping himself up with one hand outstretched behind. He watches in the quiet as Jaehyun peels off his overcoat, undershirt skin tight around broad shoulders and defined arms. It’s part of the job to be familiar with a client’s physicality, and Jaehyun makes it all too easy, not even flinching when he notices he has an audience. Doyoung shifts, anticipating he’ll just take a seat at his side, but instead Jaehyun kicks off his snow-covered boots and crawls right past him, sitting up against the back of the couch with his legs crossed. Doyoung follows only after he isn’t given any signs in Jaehyun’s body language that he isn’t allowed.

Jaehyun curls up against his side like it’s natural, and at this point, for better or worse, it is. It’s silent for another five ticks of the clock, Doyoung counts them, before he realizes that it’s on him to speak.

“Oh. Right. It is,” Doyoung mutters, realizing it’s past the point of conversational acceptability to answer it now but still feeling like he deserves the reply. If Jaehyun’s startled, he doesn’t react beyond a soft hum. “The thermostat’s behind my desk, if you ever want to mess with it. I don’t mind.”

“Thanks,” Jaehyun nods, but doesn’t get up to move. In the space that follows, Doyoung ignores the itch to fill it with something, anything, and just studies him, forcing himself to really actually look and think about what he sees today.

Jaehyun’s worrying at his bottom lip, like he’s debating between five different ways to phrase whatever is on his mind and can’t seem to find one that fits. It’s a look he’s familiar with on patients, but in contrast to Jaehyun’s usual eloquence, it makes Doyoung’s stomach churn. It seems like ages before he finds it, words slow but purposeful. “Do you ever feel like you don’t react to things as much as you should?”

Doyoung is pretty sure he gets what he means, because familiarity hits him straight in the chest before he even finishes processing his sentence. But, as always, of course he can’t just say that. “How do you mean?”

His eyebrows furl together, and Doyoung forces himself to ignore the guilt of knowing Jaehyun probably expected him not to ask. Doyoung knows the look of someone who didn’t plan that far when he sees it. He’s faster to respond this time, though, struggling through the wording. “Like, something happens, and you know you should feel something, but even when you try to make yourself, you just… don’t. Does that make sense?”

“It does,” Doyoung agrees, drawing out the syllables and refusing to resolve the sentence in his tone. That wasn’t something he learned in school, surprisingly enough, but the more he’s worked the more he’s learned there’s a science to speech, and how to tell a patient you haven’t gotten everything you need yet in subtle differences in inflection. It doesn’t hurt that Jaehyun’s smart. “It’s more common of a feeling than you’d think.”

“It happens a lot to me,” Jaehyun continues, resting his chin in the palm of his hand and propping up his elbow on his knees, drawn tightly into his chest. “It’s not a bad thing on its own, because I’m not that reactive it’s easier to feel like I have things under control. It’s better to be calm yourself than just hope someone else will be, right? But it gets kind of unnerving sometimes, I guess.”

“Have you talked to Taeil about this?” The second it leaves Doyoung’s mouth he knows it’s not what Jaehyun wants to hear, and even though he already prepared himself for that cold look in Jaehyun’s eyes, it doesn’t feel any better to see it first hand. Somehow, he holds his ground.

“I wanted to talk to you about it,” Jaehyun sighs after a pause, smiling in that kind of bitter, half-hearted way Doyoung’s become accustomed to. He’s used to a lot of things Jaehyun does, but that’s besides the point. “I know it’s not… I don’t know. I just think it’s relevant here.”

“If you think it’s important, of course I’ll listen,” Doyoung assures him, brushing his fingers against Jaehyun’s leg. When he doesn’t flinch away, he rests his palm on his thigh, hoping it feels comforting. “I was just wondering. It doesn’t matter, I promise.”

Jaehyun rubs his lips together, slightly chapped from the cold. He meets Doyoung’s eyes straight on for what might be the first time all day, and whatever it is he finds there, it’s enough for him to gather himself and continue. “I’m sorry, I know I’m being vague.”

“You are,” Doyoung agrees, because Jaehyun can handle hearing it. Every patient deserves Doyoung’s honesty, but there’s very few he feels are able to take it in stride as well as Jaehyun does. As far as Doyoung’s notes are concerned, it’s what he responds best to—signs that Doyoung regards him like an equal. It isn’t hard to show when it’s the truth. Doyoung pinches the inside of his cheek between his teeth, forcing his eyes up from the dip of Jaehyun’s collarbone he didn’t even realize he’d been staring at. “It makes me wonder what brought this on.”

Behind Jaehyun’s eyes, he can see the wheels turning, the mental debate over whether or not to tear down another piece of the wall or to keep hedging around the issue. He turns back away from Doyoung again, this time focusing his eyes on the crack in Doyoung’s blinds, out into the courtyard of the office complex. Strangely enough, there’s no sign of hesitance in his voice. “You know Chittaphon and I used to date, right?”

Doyoung blinks at him, mind flickering images between the person at his side in and the bright young man at the coffeeshop bar. It’s all too easy to paste Jaehyun right into that scene, matching bright smiles and soft winter sweaters, coffee in his hand and Christmas lights shadowing his handsome face. It wouldn’t be a sin to pretend Jaehyun slipped that little fact into their conversation, but Doyoung isn’t going to let him get away with that just because he can. “No, you never mentioned any names.”

“I didn’t?” Jaehyun twists back over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow in sincere disbelief. “Really?”

“It’s not anywhere in my notes,” Doyoung gestures to his folder, flipping through the pages for good measure. “It’s something I’d remember.”

Truth be told, Doyoung’s really, really relieved he hadn’t been privy to this little detail before, because the horror show of that entire interaction was stressful enough without that little addition clouding his mind. It almost seems peaceful in comparison, playing over Chittaphon’s side note to him with the assumption that he’s just a roommate. With this knowledge, it drops his heart heavy with just the memory. He’s grateful it’s only that.

Jaehyun gives a soft ‘huh’, which is cute, but not nearly as cute as the pout that follows it. “Wow, I really thought I did. I’m sorry about that.”

“It’s fine, I know now.” Doyoung wishes he could be as over the top as he wants in conveying just how much he means it, but he holds himself back. “Is he the ex you’ve been mentioning?”

“Considering he’s the only real one I have, yeah.” Jaehyun tosses his words back at him like they’re nothing, but there’s a slight tremor in his wrist and Doyoung doesn’t miss how he still won’t meet his eyes again. He looks up, settles in a little bit straighter against Doyoung’s side, and turns his face away again. “This is going to sound ridiculous to you.”

“I doubt that.” It doesn’t matter if he can’t know for sure. He doesn’t think he could find anything that comes out of Jaehyun’s mouth ridiculous.

“This stuff only matters when you’re young,” Jaehyun dismisses, his laughter short but sweet, if only because Doyoung can tell it’s real. “No offense.”

“Wow, I see,” Doyoung rolls his eyes, pushing against Jaehyun’s shoulder. “I get it, I’m old.”

“It’s not an insult,” Jaehyun holds up a hand in mock offense, and Doyoung doesn’t even have the energy to pretend to fight back. Seeing just how much more comfortable Jaehyun looks after only a few minutes in his office is enough to soften him to anything and everything he could say. “I just meant that you probably think the relationship problems you had in you twenties are stupid looking back.”

“Well, yes,” Doyoung admits with a shrug. “But it’s because I was stupid. That doesn’t mean I think your problems are just because you think anyone in their thirties is ancient.”

“I don’t think that about you,” Jaehyun insists, and the force of it sends Doyoung reeling back faster than lightning, masking his face back into seriousness. Jaehyun’s softer when he continues, exhaling and letting his head drop onto Doyoung’s shoulder. “But I’ve been thinking about this because of him, if you want specifics. I kept trying to imagine a day where I’d stop being upset about him and couldn’t wrap my head around it. Now that it’s here I have no idea how I should even feel. Does that help?”

Doyoung’s intuition always serves him well, except for when it doesn’t.

Relating too well with his patients is never a good sign. But work is work.

“About not being upset over him anymore?” Doyoung forces himself not to react at Jaehyun’s hand drifting onto Doyoung’s own, still resting on Jaehyun’s leg. “It’s good that you’re making progress, but I’m sure you know that. I don’t think it’s unnatural to be thrown off, especially after being attached to that emotion for so long. Trust me, that phantom limb kind of feeling doesn’t have an age limit.”

“I know I’m overthinking it.” Jaehyun intertwines their fingers, somewhere in between flimsy and clingy, which is jarring only because those are the two settings more or less all of Doyoung’s other patients flicker in between during intimacy. He cringes internally at the thought—It’s not like Doyoung needs to create more reminders that Jaehyun isn’t like the rest. “Maybe I’m just worried because I don’t want the responsibility of going on with my life.”

“Nothing has to change if you don’t want it to,” Doyoung offers, gently. Jaehyun holds up their hands to kiss the back of Doyoung’s, and his mind goes blank, his therapy-mode autopilot the only saving grace he has. “It’s not like you have to go out and find something new just because you’re over it. It’s perfectly fine to just focus on building yourself up now without the past weighing on your mind. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, I guess that is why I’m here.” Jaehyun’s smile is wider and brighter than the last, but it somehow falls even faster. “You’re right. It’s better this way. Thanks for listening, even though it’s probably hard to relate.”

“It’s really not,” Doyoung’s voice is barely audible to his own ears, Jaehyun leaning farther into him to listen, wide eyes curious. Doyoung stifles a curse, because now he can’t delude himself into thinking he might have cut himself off if he hadn’t seen Jaehyun’s face. Knowing he can’t say no to him never gets any less painful. “I’m in a similar place. Not the same, but similar.”

Lately, he’s come to think he brings the suffering on himself out of some sick addiction.

Jaehyun pulls back, and if Doyoung didn’t know better, he’d call the emotion that settles over his face something like ‘panic’, or maybe just dread. “I thought you were… oh. Oh.”

Doyoung wishes he could shove his pulse back down to a normal human rate through sheer willpower alone, but as always, his useless body betrays him. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” Jaehyun replies, something about his posture and features reminding him of a mouse, and Doyoung really needs to stop associating his actions with the word ‘cute’. He really does. “I’m glad you get it. I had a feeling you’d be good to talk to about it, so thank you.”

There’s a lump in his throat when Doyoung swallows, but he forces himself to decide it’s nothing. He reaches out to push a stray lock of hair behind Jaehyun’s ear before he can stop himself, trailing his fingers down his neck until they rest on his shoulder. Jaehyun’s breath is warm on his face, and when he settles his own onto Doyoung’s chest, heat sparks inside him, insistent and painful. Jaehyun drapes his legs over Doyoung’s lap, and he aches.

With a sigh, Jaehyun’s eyelashes fall against his cheek, delicate, and somewhere in between running his fingers through Jaehyun’s hair and the sound of the clock melting in and out of his consciousness, something grows roots in Doyoung’s thoughts, spreading its energy through his veins until it’s thrumming through his body like a drum.

It’s only when he watches Jaehyun walk outside back into the cold that he realizes what the pounding migraine he’s developed is trying to tell him in words.

Something has to give.

 

 

It gives exactly a week and two days later at the residence of one Nakamoto Yuta, somewhere in between the hours of late Saturday night and early Sunday morning.

In retrospect, it was predictable. That’s starting to become the ongoing self-fulfilling prophecy of his life, but in all reality, it’s probably been that way for a while. This was just the tipping point, the last straw in the pile, the final blow, or however else it can be phrased or rearranged to best describe the moment of recognition in this little personal tragedy known as his entire bullshit existence.

He can even pinpoint the exact moment it starts. It’s five days from Christmas, and the entire sky-high luxury apartment complex is decked out in stringing lights and makeshift wreaths, soot-covered snow drenching the streets down below. It’s the one day of the year the entire office gathers in one place, inspired by the relentless cheer of Yuta and his commitment to seasonal integrity. Skipping his annual holiday party is as good as a death sentence considering the nagging one would endure from him until Valentine’s day, but even then, it’s enjoyable enough to not be a chore. Doyoung had to be dragged out the first year kicking and screaming, but for the past few since, he’s actually looked forward to it despite himself.

He likes his coworkers, who can keep up with his drunken conversations and always know what to get in the secret Santa, and the office workers who are actually pretty funny when they’re not trying to impress him. Yuta’s house is spacious and decorated down to the detail, and the view of Seoul is better than any building in the city, save maybe Taeyong’s. All around him, there’s talk and laughter and no one is crying or demanding a prescription refill. If he squints, he can see a few stars behind the smog. It’s a beautiful winter, and it’s a beautiful night in a life that has, by and large, been incredibly kind to him.

It all starts about half past ten, bitingly freezing, and he’s standing on Yuta’s spacious fifteenth-story balcony with Ji Hansol, who is wearing the most unfortunate sweater Doyoung has ever had the privilege of laying his eyes upon.

(It looks like some sort of a cross between a Truffula tree and how a particularly inartistic child might interpret reindeer, but when Doyoung starts to comment on it, Hansol supplies the fact that he made it by hand, so he keeps it to himself.)

They’re talking about the interns and sampling the latest creation of Mark the Weekend Bartender, Doyoung switching from foot to foot in an attempt to beat out the cold. That’s the last thing he remembers the conversation being about, anyway. Sometime a little after that he’s finished on whatever’s in his hand and Yuta comes around holding something clear and bubbly with two tiny straws, delivered with a look in his eye that spells danger. Even though last year he woke up with the worst hangover his life, Doyoung takes it anyway.

It is increasingly apparent that Nakamoto Yuta does not half-ass anything, least of all his designated day of the year to get unprofessional levels of drunk, and while Doyoung knows this, and knows even better that he can drink Doyoung under the table, but after a sip or two, he does not see a reason that should alter his behavior. The spirit of Christmas, and all that.

Doyoung never used to associate vodka and Christmas, but the thing with being an adult with a busy schedule is that several events sometimes need to be combined into one for the sake of saving time.

By the time Yuta comes back around with another, Doyoung’s moved back inside and is realizing once again that he has the tolerance of a teenager at his first party. But it’s almost time for charades, which he feels vaguely grateful he doesn’t remember from last year, so he takes it. A few volleys back and forth about grad school with Jaemin the Intern later, he finds himself locked in the bathroom, staring at his reflection in the mirror, and thinking about Jaehyun.

It isn’t too bad at first, but his thoughts spiral at his clearest, and like this, it’s a free-fall. One second, he’s idylly contemplating where Jaehyun went to grad school, because he doesn’t think he’s ever mentioned it, and then the next he’s struggling just to keep himself upright, because he’s in the exact state where the obvious seems shocking, and he’s not prepared for it at all. Or rather, just the state where what he’s trying to avoid thinking about boils to the surface.

That’s the worst thing about alcohol, the lack of focus. Every bit of energy he normally devotes to tearing his thoughts away from unpleasant subjects is transferred into things like motor function and sensory processing, which doesn’t leave a lot left for higher forms of thinking, like _not going down this road_. As soon as Jaehyun’s name pops into his head, he’s already lost the battle.

He’s always thinking about God damn Jung Jaehyun.

It’s not like he doesn’t know he thinks about Jaehyun a lot. He thinks about work a lot in general, so it really isn’t hard to conflate the subject of Jaehyun with nothing but his most pressing fascination at the office. It shouldn’t bother him to think about a client when he inevitably spends a vast majority of his time of his time thinking about clients. But like anyone who’s done this for as long as he has, he’s compartmentalized. Maybe that’s why it’s so obvious now, staring at the bags under his eyes, the room kind of spinning despite standing perfectly still, that it’s a problem.

He shouldn’t be.

Just because Doyoung’s around his coworkers doesn’t mean anything that’s happening, or anything that’s been mentioned practically this entire night has anything explicitly to do with work. He’s drunk enough to the point where any and all thoughts like that should have left his mind for good a drink and a half ago, just like they always do. And the things that don’t leave his mind…

He wonders what Jaehyun’s favorite class was, and what made him fall in love with music. He wonders what story his apartment is on, and if he keeps his room as neat as Doyoung imagines he does, just a little cleaner than his. If he wakes up with the sun, does he ever sleep in, after a late night show or when he has a day off? What are the things he’s hopeful for, the things he’s afraid of?

How would he look in Doyoung’s own flat, with a rent a musician can’t afford and a bunch of shiny things he’s maybe never owned? What would Jaehyun think about his rusty piano skills, or the way he grew up, or the way he looks first thing in the morning? What would he look like if Doyoung were able to actually tell him what he sees—that he thinks he’s incredible, that he knows he has a future, and that he’s smart enough and strong enough to do whatever he wants with it?

It’s suddenly and overwhelmingly frustrating, how he only understands him in snippets and glimpses, how he knows why his last relationship ended but not his favorite song. How he can’t tell him a thing, and how Jaehyun can’t ask.

But that’s the thing. It’s how it’s supposed to be. He’s supposed to know his life in weirdly intimate details and specific vulnerabilities without being able to understand whoever he is once he leaves his office. None of those questions are supposed to be answerable. That’s absolutely where it should be. That’s normal. That’s obvious.

He isn’t supposed to care. Better yet, he’s not supposed to think about these things at all. It’s inappropriate. It’s disturbing. It’s possibly even fireable, not even tackling the grey-shaded actions he’s already taken far outside things he only thinks to himself. And here he is, thinking about it on a night where he shouldn’t even be considering anything about that realm of his life at all. That’s also obvious.

Still, he doesn’t really feel the gravity of what all of that obviously means until he blinks and he’s imagining a flash of what Jaehyun might look like pressed against the wall of his flat, lips red and swollen with his hand up Doyoung’s shirt, and and thank god for the knock at the door because holy shit, he’s going to be sick. He’s pretty sure he might pass out.

“Are you dying in there?” Yuta calls from the other side, but it might as well be a figment of Doyoung’s imagination for how clearly it registers in between the category five natural disaster occurring in his brain.

“Yes,” he replies, because nothing brings out his honesty like having nothing left to lose.

“Doyoung,” Yuta sighs, and Doyoung resists the urge to laugh, because he can tell he thinks he’s kidding and how much he wishes that could be true is pretty funny at this point. When he doesn’t reply, Yuta sighs again, louder this time. “Can I at least come in?”

Doyoung unlocks the door, shuffling back out of the way but keeping his hands firmly on the sink counter. He doesn’t exactly trust himself to go unsupported. Yuta’s bathroom is really nice and well decorated, he thinks. Not his favorite place to have a panic attack, but he could think of worse.

Yuta gets one look at him, closes the door, perches himself on the counter, and backs himself up against the wall, furrowing his eyebrows. “What’s wrong, soldier?”

“Nothing,” Doyoung replies, raking a sweaty hand back through his hair. Despite being cold all night, it feels way, way too hot for the season all of a sudden. “Do you need to be in here? I was just leaving.”

“You just told me you’re dying,” Yuta replies, deadpan. Doyoung could maybe tell how serious he is about this if he could study his face, but focusing too hard is giving him a slight headache, and he’d rather just look at his hands anyway.

“I was kidding,” Doyoung offers, thinking he’ll prove his point by standing up straight, which lasts about two seconds before he has to catch himself again. “Don’t worry.”

There’s no way Yuta’s sober, but he sounds so much more put together he might as well be as far as Doyoung’s concerned. “No, you weren’t.”

“Prove it,” Doyoung fires back, but Yuta isn’t Taeyong, and he doesn’t rise to his challenges. Yuta just crosses his knees, and Doyoung knows he’s made a grave mistake before he’s even opened his mouth.

“Just because you want to fuck a twenty-three year old doesn’t mean you need to act like one,” Yuta enunciates every single syllable with the sting and precision of a knife, shameless and intentionally cruel. He has no idea if Yuta knows what those words are doing to him right now, but he’s vulnerable enough to remove all doubt. He’s months past being able to fight it.

“Don’t,” he warns, but it’s not strong enough to mean anything, and he knows it. “Please don’t joke about that.”

“I don’t know how much of it was joke,” Yuta admits, but his tone’s lost his bite. It’d be better than how it sounds now, though, low and concerned, and Doyoung wishes he could just make this conversation stop before it starts. Yuta dashes those hopes, just like Doyoung expects. “Now, I really don’t know how much of it is a joke, because I was really hoping I was going wrong about why you’ve been hiding out here for the past twenty minutes.”

The nausea has peaked to the point where he either needs to speak or throw up, and in the interest of respecting Yuta’s hours of cleaning, he braces himself on his forearms, rests his head on the cool of the counter, and opens up the floodgates. “There’s something really, really wrong with me.”

“I don’t think it’s anything wrong with you,” Yuta shrugs, but Doyoung just grits his teeth, because he doesn’t get it. “At least not with wanting to screw a twenty-three year old. It’s well past legal.”

“That’s not the point,” Doyoung hisses, even though they’re both well aware of that. “How much do you know? How much do you think you know?”

“I know that you look like you’re about to heave from anxiety on my bathroom floor and more or less just confirmed it’s about a client,” Yuta observes, and Doyoung groans, giving up on the whole standing thing entirely and sinking down to the floor, where he can put his back up against the cabinets and just focus on breathing in a normal way again. “A client that’s already been a touchy subject for a while.”

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this,” Doyoung replies, not even sure if he’s speaking out loud or just inside his head anymore. “I don’t know if I can keep this up.”

“Keep what up?” Yuta asks, in the way someone does when fearing for the worst but hoping for anything else. Doyoung hates disappointing him, but some things are just inevitable after this much alcohol and emotional repression.

“Pretending like he’s just another client,” Doyoung sighs, praying it will be a complete enough answer for Yuta to just lay off, to just let it be, to not draw out any more of an admission of his reality than this. It’s the truth of how he feels. It has to be enough. He’s kind of horrified of anything more.

But again, he makes the mistake of letting that desperation show, and it’s never going to be that easy just because he wants it to be. Not with this. He’s realizing that, now. He’s always been a little slow on the uptake. Yuta exhales. “Then what is he?”

The possibilities of how he could answer that question flow in faster than he can keep up with.

The first person he’s wanted to get close to in years. Someone that fascinates him, occasionally confuses the hell out of him, and always surprises him. A boy he shouldn’t have any personal interest in at all but who manages to occupy a really eerie amount of his personal time in a way no one else in his life replicates, let alone someone supposed to be relegated to a one-hour weekly time block. The reason he’s absolutely, unquestionably going to hell.

None of those seem to really be good choices, or even things he knows he’ll be able to stand by in the morning, when he’s far less dramatic and far more sane. So, he just sighs. “Not that.”

“Yeah, not that.” Yuta isn’t even trying to rub it in this time as far as Doyoung can tell, but somehow that makes it worse. “Doyoung, just how bad is this?”

Doyoung doesn’t answer that. The longer the silence stretches on, the more that becomes an answer within itself, and soon it’s too late to keep himself from being incriminated at all. It’s obvious to the point where there’s no need for it.

He’s beyond fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slow update this time around, I hope it was worth the wait. My life has been way busier than normal these past few weeks, but the comments I've gotten both here and on twitter encouraged me to power through. Thank you all so much, I mean it. I couldn't do it without you!
> 
> If it seems like there's a lot to be resolved, there is, but the last chapter's way longer than the rest. See you then.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Did I say there's only five chapters to this? Because there's totally been six all along... What a slip of the tongue! 
> 
> Also, hey, check out that ratings boost.

Between the blinding city lights and the whir of the freeways, the sprawling, densely packed streets leave no view of the stars up above. The only things that come close are whatever corporate buildings and radio towers happen to be taller than eye-level, or the neon marquees that line the alleys. Beyond that, it’s nothing but darkness out into the sky.

It’s just days away from the longest night of the year, leaving millions of workers watching the sun slowly melt out of the horizon while still stuck inside their offices. By five, it’s dark. Until seven, it stays that way. It’s the season of the night, and with it, the slow weight of the cold that blankets the city. It’s beautiful out there.

It’s the season of night, and everything is dimmed on low. Strings of lights cascade in and around the peripheral view, as soft as their make allows, coming down to frame the windows out into the city. There’s a candle burning, soft eucalyptus and mint, three wicks melting wax and dancing shadows on the wall. In the corner, a single lamp bleeds its light through a dark red shade. Everything else is just cast in varying shades of darkness and flickering glow, save for slits of twinkling lights in between the cracks of shuttered blinds.

It is quiet. It is still. Inside, the world is slow, but it is warm, and while that heat is heavier, it is an easier burden to bear. It’s the season of lights, and the colors are perfect. It’s even more beautiful in here.

Here, the world feels small. As small as the edges of a mattress, as small as the shadow of a flame flickering across skin, as small as the brush of fingertips. If the blinds were closed all the way instead of cracked, it’d be so easy to get wrapped up in the idea that this is all the world is at all, even if just for a time. Closed off to the sense of sight completely, reality narrows still, until the only thing that exists is a hitch of breath, skin against skin, and dizzying heat. In here, time doesn’t mean much at all.

The dissonance of it doesn’t feel important. After all, light is light, and winter is winter. There’s nothing about the moment that seems out of balance, there’s nothing shifting in the equilibrium because the feeling of one place does not, and cannot exist in another. Opposing conditions can exist without being a statement on each other. It isn’t anything more than itself. Just the facts.

That’s why he doesn’t see it, then. That’s why this isn’t the moment that shatters it, that’s why the situation doesn’t _give_ like it should. Later, it’ll come to embody why it did eventually become too much and too intense to ignore. But for the moment, it isn’t evidence for a larger idea; it isn’t proof of latent fears or something that shouldn’t be.

It’s peaceful, and that’s precisely why it turned into something so horrifying in memory. But right now, he doesn’t know any of that.

Right now, it’s a week before Christmas, somewhere between six and seven at night, and he’s half-naked, pinned to the futon in his office. Just the facts.

“Are you sure?” Doyoung asks again, for what must be the third or fourth time. There’s a part of him that’s asking for his own sake, but mostly, it’s not out of insecurity. This time. He’s been asking this question way, way before he got into doing what he does. He’s heard about every response in the book, so he’s prepared for whatever he gets. Even though the last three answers have pretty much been the same.

“Really?” Jaehyun sighs, but Doyoung gets the feeling he’s not so much frustrated as he is impatient. Doyoung thinks that’s fair—even though he knows Jaehyun understands the position he’s in, it _is_ overkill from any other standpoint. Jaehyun’s being way more forgiving than most by even indulging him. Not even the most attentive lover is this concerned about consent, but after all, that’s what makes Doyoung different. “The answer’s still yes. I’ve thought about this enough to not run screaming.”

It doesn’t worry him that Jaehyun’s thought about it, it’s his job to. The difference is most clients talk through their hesitation and hopes with him out loud beforehand. The longer this goes on, though, the more Doyoung’s starting to notice Jaehyun really isn’t that type of person. He takes what he’s told, matches it up with how he feels, and makes his own conclusions about it. There’s no way of knowing if Jaehyun confides in anyone at all, or if everything is shared in tiny bits and pieces like it is with him. Doyoung wouldn’t be surprised if it’s the latter, especially after what Chittaphon said.

If history is any indication, he’s lucky he’s privy to the results this time at all. He’s starting to recognize the look Jaehyun gets when understands something for the first time, after he’s made up his mind about it. Usually he doesn’t follow it with any sort of decision, making his request tonight out of the blue, but not shocking. Not really.

Based on his behavior so far, Doyoung gets the feeling Jaehyun rarely changes his mind about much of anything at all. But without any solid evidence to back that up beyond intuition, it’d be wrong of him to just run with that assumption. So he has to ask. “Just tell me if you stop being sure, alright?”

“I will,” Jaehyun promises, shifting until he’s straddling Doyoung’s waist instead of just awkwardly kneeling over him, back straight with his hands pinned on either side of Doyoung’s head. Doyoung sighs—the price of looking up—because if he doesn’t he’s sure something will show on his face. His shirt’s been off for the past ten minutes; he got his staring in before Jaehyun even turned back around, not to mention Doyoung’s hands have been all over him since, but for some stupid reason, he’s still affected.

He’s beautiful by any standard. Doyoung already knew that, and expected his body to match. But seeing it, touching it… that’s something else entirely. He’s cut and proportioned, smooth skin marked with a scar on his shoulder Doyoung’s been careful not to brush against. He’s stronger than his closet of sweaters and crew-necks lets him look, and there’s a horrible, juvenile part of Doyoung that can’t help but feel like he pales in comparison.

It’s something he got used to with Taeyong, and a handful of people he slept with in college before that, but as far as clients go, he’s thin and in-shape enough to not worry about it. Usually. Even at twenty-three Doyoung couldn’t have compared with Jaehyun, and while he’s professional enough for some slight anxiety accompanying the overwhelming surge of attraction not to hurt, it doesn’t go ignored. All it took was Jaehyun sliding his hands over Doyoung’s torso and pulling his own sweater over his head to make him painfully aware of that, and the minutes that passed haven’t let him forget.

Being so undeniably attracted to him only hurts because it’s so strong. The hand Jaehyun wound up his back to press him up against the futon was enough to sting, and every look he’s stolen, every touch against his skin just digs the knife deeper. He’s damn lucky he’s so naturally repressed, because nothing else could force him to be silent and still underneath someone he’s trying not to fantasize about sucking off. Professionalism is more often than not pretty much all about repression, as far as he’s concerned.

At least the sexual attraction doesn’t make him all that nervous anymore, though. Maybe it’s because he has a degree in it, but he figured out he was gay around the same time he watched the video for _Mirotic_ , and he has a type Jaehyun fits to a T. Trying to deny that is bound to hurt the situation more than anything. How is he supposed to help encourage someone else’s sexual expression while suppressing his own? It’s the same call he’d make in any situation like this. Lust is easy to work with, all things considered.

“If I cross a boundary, tell me,” Doyoung urges, because he’s said it in about every other way but this and he has to check off the entire list. Just to make sure the message gets through. “I just need to know that you’re comfortable doing that.”

“I’ll kick you off, how about that?” Jaehyun is really unfunny. He sets up jokes too obviously, with a smile he can’t bite back and a full-breath pause before the punch line. But for some inexplicable reason, Doyoung still laughs. “Let me know, too. If I do something… you know.”

“Jaehyun,” Doyoung sighs, pushing himself up so they’re at eye-level with one another instead of Doyoung laying completely underneath him. Every week, the way Jaehyun explained his reasons for seeking this out makes more and more sense in practice. But as always, it’s not like he can say that. “I’m here to help with whatever feels right for you. You know my conditions. If I can tell you’re rushing, that’s when I’ll draw a line.”

“That can’t be your only condition,” Jaehyun frowns, and Doyoung just shakes his head, because it’s hard to hold his own against him when he’s doing his best to look like he actually cares. “It’s only right to protect yourself.”

“In your case, that’s the only one I’m concerned about,” Doyoung says, exhaling and shifting back down until he’s off the pillows and looking straight up at him again. “What’s right is me doing my job. So let me.”

It’s clear he isn’t sold on that, so Doyoung slinks a hand around the small of his back, light and unassuming. Jaehyun sinks into the touch immediately, curling himself down to kiss him.

 _I didn’t feel comfortable before,_ Jaehyun told him after he’d stripped off his jacket and scarf upon walking in, looking a little lost from the change in appointment time. An emergency lesson switch with Kyungsoo forced them to reschedule to Doyoung’s last time slot of the day, an accommodation he doesn’t make a habit of arranging on short notice, but felt necessary in Jaehyun’s case. _But I want to take the next step. Whatever that is._

Doyoung did his best to not react to that beyond a soft smile, because he had a feeling he was holding back. He was just waiting for him to bring it up on his own. Instead of the anticipation that hits him square in the gut, he chooses to show that pride for him, instead. Jaehyun, for his part, just asked what his options were.

He gave a few, but Jaehyun wasn’t really listening. He left a long stretch of silence before he shrugged, _I just want to touch you, really._

So Doyoung swallowed past the lump in his throat, and gave him the only appropriate response, which was that yes, of course. That can be arranged.

And that’s what Jaehyun’s doing.

For all his talk, Doyoung can tell he’s nervous. There’s a tremor in his arms that makes his hand a little unsteady when it comes to fall on Doyoung’s chest, his breaths floating in between shallow and drawn out, like he’s trying to remember the notes Doyoung’s given him on that but not focused enough to carry them out. He has his eyes closed, giving Doyoung a chance to just observe him as Jaehyun sinks back down on his heels until he’s hovering just inches above his chest, lips ghosting across his skin.

The clinical task of picking apart his every move takes the edge off of how his pulse spikes at the first brush of Jaehyun’s mouth against his ribcage, of how heavy he feels resting waist-against-waist, of how he can feel which part of his each finger is calloused from his guitar when they trace the patterns of his own skin. He clings to it like a lifeline.

But it doesn’t erase it completely, and he can already feel the heat gathering in his stomach, breath hitching when Jaehyun’s free hand accidentally brushes too low past his torso. Jaehyun feels it to, hesitating as his eyes flutter open. Doyoung puts as much reassurance as he can into his expression, hoping it’ll get the message across without him having to risk trying to speak. Thankfully, Jaehyun just nods, lowering his head back down a little more convinced. A little more confident.

This isn’t the first time a session has gone like this. Far from it. It might say something about Doyoung that he sees it as little more than a performance review, but that’s because in this sense, it is. Things like intimacy, slow steps towards overt sexuality, touching and feeling and understanding… They’re all just markers towards a goal that it’s Doyoung’s job to guide. And he has no illusions of this being different, at least for that reason. He’s aware of what Jaehyun needs out of this, maybe more than normal. It’s not for him.

In the back of his mind, he’s realizing that for the first time, that this is what all those snide comments at parties have been about. It’s things like this that get brought up in dinner conversations and sidelong glances, the underhanded assumption that part of him has to like it. Part of him has to get off. Part of him has to, at least sometimes, get his own satisfaction out of it. Before this, he thought he understood. There’s been more than a few times where it hasn’t been a chore.

The more he thinks about it, the more he’s certain this is what they’ve meant all along. It’s the sweat at the base of his neck, the way he’s straining against the heat pooling lower and lower, the way he’s blinking too much to blur Jaehyun in and out of focus because he’s hit with the urge to pull him in closer every time he looks too long… that sort of thing. Actually _wanting_ it.

Either it makes him human, or it makes him some type of monster that when Jaehyun’s traveled down low enough to curl his fingertips around the hem of his slacks, Doyoung’s so convinced by the look in Jaehyun’s eyes that he doesn’t even bother to ask if he’s sure. The fact that Jaehyun’s daring him to challenge it is enough evidence.

This angle frames him so well in the shadows, and whatever Doyoung could have said anyway is drowned out by strips of light from the window blinds falling on his shoulder blades. It’s the setting of it all, the entire scene making it feel like he’s stuck somewhere between the real world and a rift in time where the only fact that matters is that Jaehyun wants this, and he’s prepared to give it to him.

He doesn’t pull at the fabric, at least not immediately. Jaehyun’s hands are still shaking, if not even more than before, but his breath is steadier, warm against the dip of Doyoung’s hipbone. He laughs, or Doyoung thinks he does. It feels more like a sharp exhale than anything. “Tell me the truth. I look ridiculous.”

“You don’t,” Doyoung promises, pushing back against the now-familiar dull ache of not being able to say just now much he means that. Jaehyun’s all but laying on him now, cheek pressed against Doyoung’s too-thin stomach with his hands resting across the top of his thighs, hair falling over his forehead. Doyoung doesn’t trust himself to put an adjective to it, not even in his own head, but ridiculous would be the last word he’d use. That much he’s sure of.

What Jaehyun looks is a little out of his element, and if Doyoung’s reading him right, a little too comfortable where he is and not quite sure if he wants to change that. If he’s not comfortable, he puts on a good act, holding onto him with that same surreal grip in between clingy and reserved. He’s holding onto him like he belongs there, and whatever that makes Doyoung feel is muted by lust, so he throws it out entirely. He reaches down to put a hand on Jaehyun’s wrist. “I’m not here to judge you. I promise.”

“I know,” Jaehyun mutters, stifling a sigh in a way that makes Doyoung feel distinctly unhelpful. Still, he pulls up into a kneel and puts a hand on either side of Doyoung’s hips, studying the pattern of the sheets instead of looking up when he talks. “If I keep going, it’s not too much, right?”

Doyoung forces himself into his right mind, weighing his options with the care they deserve until he’s confident the answer he picks isn’t just because it’s the one he wants to say. “No, not yet.”

“Okay,” Jaehyun closes his eyes again, and Doyoung uses the cover to rake a hand back through his own hair, because he let his gaze drift a little too low on Jaehyun’s body, and _oh_. Knowing he’s hard makes it that much more impossible to fight in himself, even though the second Jaehyun’s thumb brushes over the front of his pants he stifles a gasp, and it was a lost cause in the first place. Knowing a partner is turned on is encouragement that’s necessary in a situation like this, but what’s good in theory just makes him feel exposed in practice. He can’t help but feel like his last defense has been shattered.

Doyoung doubts he was ever that good of an actor. It was sure comforting while it lasted, but knowing he’s doing something to Jaehyun without being anything more than just on display for him is, for better or worse, is a feeling he prefers.

Jaehyun presses his lips just above where Doyoung’s skin disappears beneath fabric and unhooks his belt buckle with a flick of his thumb, practiced and easy. Doyoung lifts his hips in turn, just enough for Jaehyun to slide it out of the loops. He still has a hand on Jaehyun’s wrist, but he doesn’t need the help, the motions flowing one after the other like second nature.

His experience shows, and that makes Jaehyun more attractive than anything, the ease with which he pops the front button and hooks his fingers around the waistline burning energy up Doyoung’s spine, blurring his vision. He arches his back, focusing on keeping himself steady and composed in the brief second he gets to before he’s at Jaehyun’s command again. For the first time, his own eyes flutter closed.

He understands where this is going. He knows.

“Jaehyun,” Doyoung mutters, focusing on enunciating each syllable with a level clarity he doesn’t feel in the least. He slicks his bangs back with the back of his hand. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to do anything just because it’s what you think I want or expect, or because you think it’s normal and you should.”

Jaehyun hums, thoughtful, and it vibrates against every bone in Doyoung’s body. “I don’t feel that way, hyung. I promise.”

Again with the hyung.

Doyoung doesn’t want to know the answer, but he has to ask it anyway. “How do you feel, then?”

“Like I want to,” there’s a pause before his answer, but it’s convincing enough in Doyoung’s ears for him not to feel like it’s forced, or worse, a lie. He isn’t suspending his disbelief yet, though. “I get it. You don’t want to have to worry I’m pushing myself too far. If I was only worried about what’s easy on you, I wouldn’t even try. But I want to. Isn’t that what you told me I should do?”

The question is so innocent, it feels like a slap in the face. If there was any doubt left in his mind that Jaehyun shouldn’t be underestimated it’s long gone, because yes, that’s exactly what Doyoung wants him to do. That’s what they’ve been working for. It’s only his confidence in his own abilities and his inexplicable trust in Jaehyun that keeps him from wondering if Jaehyun’s just twisting his words around to convince them both. It’s a possibility, sure, but for some reason, something tells him Jaehyun means it. Like this isn’t the first time this scenario’s gone through his head.

That thought is equal parts terrifying and enthralling, but those are just the emotions Jaehyun inspires in him in general.

“Of course,” Doyoung replies after a silence that stretches on a little too long, releasing a sigh he didn’t know he was holding in. “If that’s the case, then I’m just glad you feel comfortable enough. That’s a good sign.”

“Yeah,” Jaehyun lowers his voice until it’s all but a whisper, Doyoung straining to make out his words. “You’re good at that.”

Doyoung’s eyes open just in time to see Jaehyun staring up at him with his cheek resting on Doyoung’s thigh. They study one another for just a fraction of a second before Jaehyun turns his attention to a loose thread on Doyoung’s slacks. Doyoung keeps watching, though. “What do you mean?”

“You’re good at making people feel comfortable.” Doyoung doesn’t mistake it this time, the way Jaehyun’s eyes flash something painful before resting half-lidded, his shoulders falling. It twists a knife in his chest, how Doyoung’s close enough to reach out and pull him in but he can’t lift a finger. He just has to watch as something Doyoung doesn’t understand shifts in him.

It’s something he’s heard before. More times than he can count. It stopped feeling like a compliment a long time ago, but something about the way Jaehyun says it makes it hurt even more than usual. His first instinct is to remind Jaehyun that he only has himself as a point of reference, but if it doesn’t make him feel any better to think about, it sure as hell won’t be any more helpful to say out loud. “I always try.”

“I know you do.” Jaehyun’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but the corners crinkle in a way that makes it seem like he’s trying to let it. “Thank you, is what I’m trying to say.”

It’s out of Doyoung’s mouth before he can even process the thought long enough to warn himself against it. “Sometimes you’re pretty hard to read, Jaehyun.”

It’s only when Jaehyun’s smile widens into something real that Doyoung realizes the corners of his own lips are pulling up. His laugh is low and quiet. “Yeah, I’ve heard that before.”

 _You’re not always hard to understand, though,_ is what Doyoung manages to not say. But he thinks it. Really hard. Instead, he just replies, “I can tell you’re trying. That’s enough.”

“I’ll try to be direct,” Jaehyun licks his lips, the look he sends sparking a fresh wave of arousal, sharp enough to almost hurt. Doyoung swallows past the lump in his throat, forcing himself not to react. “I want to try sucking you off. Can I do that?”

A few of the neurons misfire in his brain and for long, horrifying seconds, his mind goes blank completely. When it comes back into focus, it’s like the wiring itself has been refreshed, filtering out all the white noise until all that’s left is an ice-cold clarity. It’s obvious. “If you have a goal and a purpose that’s communicated between us, then yes.”

Jaehyun closes his eyes, then opens them again, some of that surety reflected back at him. “Because I like doing it,” he shrugs. “I guess… I’m not really used to thinking that’s a good enough reason.”

“It is, though,” Doyoung says, softly, because it’s the truth. “That’s always enough.”

“Then convince me,” Jaehyun challenges, but it’s only when Doyoung feels his fingernails dig into the skin of his hipbone that he realizes Jaehyun means it. “Let’s say my goal is to believe it.”

“Then I’m right here.” Doyoung props himself up with one elbow just long enough to force Jaehyun to meet his eyes, making sure to hold Jaehyun’s gaze as he nods instead of letting his focus drift towards his lips, or worse, his hands, like his body so clearly wants him to. He waits until Jaehyun nods back to lay down again, collapsing against the mattress to steady himself against the feeling of Jaehyun’s hands tugging at the waist of his slacks.

There’s no possible way to hide the way his legs are shaking as he lifts his hips up off the sheets, but he still tries, counting each breath it takes for Jaehyun to work the fabric off his legs, each brush of his fingers against skin lingering too long after he’s moved on. He imagines it so clearly inside his head—Jaehyun’s expression, the glow of candlelight on his back, his hands tracing up his calves—and it’s too much, even from just the shadows over his body.

He can’t look at him directly, not now, stripped down to just his boxers and already too hard to fake not being completely and hopelessly turned on. It’ll expose everything he has left, and even that’s not a lot, they’re the exact things needs to keep under wraps the most. So he stares at the static on the back of his eyelids, and breathes.

Jaehyun adjusts himself on the mattress in between his legs, and even in the dark, Doyoung can tell that he’s hesitating, the stillness spiking his pulse with anxiety. Jaehyun exhales, and breathes, “Wow, you’re…”

Doyoung doesn’t want to know what comes next.

Thankfully, Jaehyun spares him. Whatever the rest of that sentence might have contained breaks off as he lowers himself down across his frame, kneeling down to straddle him on either side. The denim of his jeans is rough and only serves to remind Doyoung just how on display he is, but when he shivers it’s more due to the slow, lazy circles Jaehyun’s drawing on the inside of his thigh than any lingering insecurity.

The force of Jaehyun’s eyes is enough to burn, Doyoung dizzying himself by trying to focus on keeping his cool when the only thing he can think about is the callouses on Jaehyun’s fingertips as they drift farther and farther up his body, Doyoung’s spine arching against the warmth of his breath on his navel.

He’s nowhere near as sure as Jaehyun that he’s even close to ready for this. But it’s happening. So he has to be.

Doyoung can feel him move in closer, bracing himself, but Jaehyun stops short. Wrapping his hand around the back of his leg, he pressing his lips to the smoothest part of Doyoung’s skin, right before it disappears beneath the hem of his boxers. He lingers there for a moment, and despite his better judgment, Doyoung blinks open his eyes, just to see Jaehyun’s own closed, kneeled a position both too erotic and too intimate all at once.

He forces them shut again, heart pounding in his ears, the image of him between his legs searing in his thoughts, and dear God, he’s too old for this. Jaehyun hasn’t even touched him yet.

The ‘yet’ is, as he fears, temporary. Whatever trance Jaehyun was under breaks, his hands tracing up to find a hold on the elastic of Doyoung’s boxers. Jaehyun’s slower taking the last layer off, almost gentle. The drag of fabric against his dick is already too much but not anywhere close to enough at the same time, and the fact that he knows Jaehyun isn’t half as much of a tease as Doyoung’s brain wants to think he is only makes it worse. He lifts his hips without registering his own movement, finally naked in every sense of the word.

It feels less like dropping his guard this time. Whether that’s because it’s too late or because he’s stopped caring doesn’t matter anymore. Jaehyun’s been looking at him for what might as well be hours now, and the feeling of being watched is getting to be familiar, almost comforting. The only thing that shakes him at all is a little hitch in Jaehyun’s breath and the way his hand shakes as he takes the length of Doyoung’s cock into his hand and runs his thumb up the length, over the slit, back down again, testing the weight in his hand.

It’s a part of these sessions that is, with very few exceptions, some of the most awkward moments of his life. But with Jaehyun, he’s having to remind himself of where they are just so he can keep his breath quiet and his thoughts coherent, the attention he’s giving him both endearing and slow enough to drive him crazy. He wants him to keep good on his promise, to just do whatever he wants and fast and Doyoung thinks any longer might actually break something in him, because he’s harder than he’s been in months, about to get blown by a client, and really, really wants every part of it.

A whine escapes the back of his throat, but whatever part of him that can still regret it is silenced for good, because something about it spurs Jaehyun into action, sliding his wrist down to the base of his dick to wrap his lips over the head and there, that’s what he’s been waiting for.

Doyoung sucks in a breath of air, loud, and Jaehyun doesn’t waste a second sinking down, smooth and steady until he’s wrapped around the entire length, tongue flat against the shaft like it’s effortless. Doyoung feels his muscles clench, and he gets less than a beat of rest where Jaehyun’s still around him before he takes a breath and _moves_. And that’s when Doyoung starts to unravel for good.

It’s not rocket science why Jaehyun would like it—he’s brilliant.

Jaehyun works him up and down with his tongue, his hold on the shaft just tight enough to keep him on edge and jacking him off wherever his mouth doesn’t reach. Doyoung moans too loud for comfort when he takes him down as far as he can, and even though he gets it under control after the first time, he can’t help but feel Jaehyun keeps returning to it just to torture him. Forcing Doyoung to put all of his energy into keeping himself quiet when he’s so far down Jaehyun’s throat he’s seeing stars can’t be the product of innocent intentions.

True or not, the thought alone makes his head spin. The fact that this location is far from private has been burning something awful inside him all night, and it’s far more thrilling than it should be.

Doyoung winds a hand around the back of Jaehyun’s neck, because he’s getting closer every second and he wants him there, wants that encouragement known. Jaehyun leans into it, natural and easy, jerking into him at the whine Doyoung gives as Jaehyun swirls his tongue over the tip and picks up his pace, a little sloppier, a little less perfect.

Somehow, it’s even better that way, and Doyoung can’t hold back the curiosity to look at him any longer. He doesn’t even know how he holds himself up long enough to take it all in, Jaehyun between his thighs, his dick between his lips.

He’s going to hell. There’s no way around it.

He holds on tighter to Jaehyun’s hair as a warning, the heat building and building as Jaehyun works him faster, urgent. He wants to keep looking at him more than anything, but within seconds it burns too much to keep his eyes open, the arousal and pleasure drowning out everything else in his mind until the pressure breaks.

Jaehyun has time to pull away, but he doesn’t, his lips still around him when Doyoung comes and staying there until Doyoung falls back flat against the mattress, trying to catch his breath.

The world takes its time shifting back into order, the room silent and still after Jaehyun pulls back, panting. It could be seconds, or it could be minutes before Jaehyun moves again, crawling over to Doyoung’s side. With a sigh, he settles in against him, their bodies touching, but not quite enough to be considered intimate. The silence isn’t uncomfortable, but it’s heavy, filled with a feeling Doyoung can’t name. He doesn’t want to even if he could.

Doyoung’s almost out of his right mind enough to ask him if he should return the favor, before realizing how wildly inappropriate that would be. He settles, thankfully, on a more clinical approach. “So. Let’s talk about that.”

Jaehyun hums, and Doyoung gives him a minute to think while he gathers his boxers and pants from the edge of the futon, redressing the lower half of himself as quickly as possible, facing the other way. Jaehyun’s the one waiting on him by the time he turns back around, Doyoung taking a seat at his side. Jaehyun’s lips are swollen and his cheeks red, but otherwise he looks way, way more composed than Doyoung feels.

“Thank you,” Jaehyun begins, quiet. Each word sounds a little more confident, though, a little bit more convinced. “It’s hard to advocate for myself like that. But you let me.”

“That’s…” Doyoung begins, but something in his throat catches before he can continue. He swallows it down, pushing past how unsteady his voice sounds in his own ears. “That’s what I’m here for. I mean it.”

Jaehyun smiles, small and half-hidden behind the arm he’s using as a pillow. “Can I ask you something?”

Doyoung nods. “Of course.”

“When I say it’s hard,” Jaehyun begins, his chest rising and falling in time with Doyoung’s own. “I don’t want you to get the wrong idea of what I’ve gone through. No one’s ever made me feel like I can’t have what I want, or anything like that.”

“I understand,” Doyoung assures, because he does. Something in the back of his head already inferred that, or at least to some extent. Jaehyun doesn’t have the look of someone who’s been _hurt_ . It’s more the look of someone who doesn’t know what it feels like to be be given _enough_.

Doyoung gets that, sometimes.

“I just mean that it’s never been as easy with anyone else.”

Jaehyun unravels him. And he doesn’t know. He doesn’t even fucking know.

At the time, it shakes him enough to have it ring in his head the entire drive home, enough to leave him unsure of what to say or how to even take it. But two days later, crouched on Yuta’s floor and staving off nausea-ridden panic attacks in the early hours of the morning, they’re the only words he can think of at all.

He really, really should have seen this coming.

 

 

Taeyong shows up at Yuta’s flat around ten on Sunday morning with dark wash jeans and a sweater taken from Doyoung’s closet under his arms, and the look of someone prepared for battle.

At least that’s what Yuta says he looks like when he opens up the bathroom door to toss Doyoung’s clothes on the floor, along with a borrowed pair of his own boxers. Lucky for him, Doyoung’s in the shower through the worst of Taeyong’s alleged tantrum, and by the time he’s finished dousing himself in enough cold water to join the world of the living, Taeyong is sitting at the dining table, serene as can be.

His laptop is open, Yuta leaning over his back and nodding along as Taeyong talks on about something too quietly for Doyoung to hear, though he’d bet any money on him taking advantage of a captive audience to preview his new demo works. Yuta doesn’t look nearly as relieved to be saved as Doyoung hoped, only sparing him a glance when he clears his throat, rocking back and forth on his heels from the other end of the table. Taeyong doesn’t even give him that courtesy, still glued to his laptop as Yuta slowly unwinds Taeyong’s headphones off his ears.

“I made reservations for eleven,” Yuta explains, blinking behind sunken eyes. He looks about as exhausted as Doyoung feels, without the added nausea and pounding migraine. Or at least he hopes. The last thing he needs is to feel even guiltier. “At that place you like with the lifted booths.”

“Oh.” Doyoung remembers that place, because they have the best pancakes in Seoul. He also remembers the price tag. With a sigh, he swallows past the lump in his throat, forcing himself to be optimistic over the fact that Yuta’s throwing him a bone rather than give into cynicism and see it for the consolation prize it is. Considering he’s not sure how he’s standing upright or tolerating the sun glaring against his eyes from the open windows, it’s slightly beyond him. “Great. That’s great.”

“I’ll go bring the car around, then.” Doyoung doesn’t miss the way Taeyong looks at Yuta, and only Yuta, as he says it, packing up his laptop with a single-minded focus that could make stronger men than Doyoung shiver. “Street parking was a nightmare.”

Doyoung, tactfully, decides to wait until he hears the elevator ding down the hall before he says a word, Yuta staring at him with arched eyebrows the while. He clears his throat, pretending to adjust the part in his hair. “How much did you tell him, exactly?”

In reply, Yuta averts his eyes, leaning up against the counter with crossed ankles. “Just the basics.”

The flat isn’t in too bad of shape, all things considered. To his credit, Doyoung offered to help clean when he woke up, but the property’s owner was having none of it, opting instead to enlist the much-less-hungover Taeil, for reasons that are completely beyond him. Still, he feels bad, seeing how put together the space is despite his better efforts the night before.

He remembers hoping that he wouldn’t be able to put the pieces together on just what had happened come morning. Clearly, that plan failed. The only thing he has left is plausible deniability, but he’s a terrible liar. Even if he weren’t, it’s not like he has any energy left in him to try and fake it. “So, it’s up to me to fill in the details. Got it.”

Yuta shrugs, grabbing his jacket from the hanger by the door and slinging it over his arm before passing Doyoung his own, a peacoat he’d left there after arriving last night. He has a feeling it’ll be a little light for the temperature, but he’s not about to complain. “I think you should. That’s just my opinion, though.”

The walk to the elevator and down through the lobby is quiet, but only in the sense that the both of them are too exhausted and half-dead to muster up the motivation for small talk. The sort of silence that greets him in Taeyong’s car is more purposeful. It might just be hopeful thinking, but Doyoung gets the feeling Taeyong’s cooled down a few degrees. Not that the alternative emotion of disappointment is all that much of an improvement. He knows better than to interrupt him and Yuta’s idle chatter when Taeyong’s knuckles are still white on the steering wheel. Instead, he does his best to meld into the leather of his Mercedes, making no noise and pretending he doesn’t exist.

The reservation was made under Taeyong’s name, a convenient underhand tactic that puts them up at the back of the restaurant’s upper level, at a shaded, circular table up in a lofted corner lit with its own tiny chandelier. It looks and will undoubtedly function like the interrogation room of Doyoung’s worst nightmares, and the close-lipped smile on Taeyong’s face all but confirms he’s thinking the exact same thing. Doyoung takes the side of the table Taeyong doesn’t, and Yuta follows Taeyong, folding their hands in a level of unison that is frankly a little unnerving.

“So. How’s everyone’s pre-holiday weekend?” Doyoung asks, facial muscles already in pain from a forced smile he’s been holding up for less than ten seconds. It fades into a grimace before he manages to finish his sentence.

“Fine,” Taeyong says, plainly. He holds up his menu in front of his face, absorbing himself in its contents. Yuta takes the initiative to speak to the waiter when he comes around, opting for coffee and water all around, a choice that Doyoung is more than grateful for. Taeyong waits to speak again until he’s sure Doyoung’s listening, even after they’re alone. “I hear you had a rough night.”

“It happens,” Doyoung dismisses, wishing there was some way to dim the lights and ease off on the proverbial nail getting drilled over and over into his forehead. “That’s life. Sometimes you take it easy, sometimes you go overboard, you don’t always get what you want.”

“What, like falling for a client?” Taeyong deadpans, folding the menu back up and setting it slowly out in front of him, cocking his head to the side and actually bothering to look at Doyoung for the first time this morning. Though Doyoung immediately wishes he hadn’t.

Doyoung’s heart sinks, cold and heavy. “I didn’t say that. Did I say that?”

If Doyoung didn’t know better, he’d think Yuta looks uneasy at that. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you did everything but.”

“Trust me, you don’t have to say anything,” Taeyong sighs, leaning back in the booth and crossing his legs, fingers tapping against his forearm in agitation. “I gave you the benefit of the doubt for as long as I could, but as soon as I got Yuta’s call this morning I knew all I’d need was one look at you to know. Sure enough, I think get it now.”

In this, his the eleventh hour, his final chance to possibly scrape together a meager defense here in the heat of the trial, Doyoung has no idea what to say. Every ounce of fight he’s accumulated over the past few months drains out of his body with a single puff of air, as pathetic and lackluster as he feels. He lets the silence drag on as long as he can without losing his chance completely. “Oh.”

Something breaks in Taeyong’s composure, his shoulders slumping down as he thanks the waiter quietly for his coffee. Doyoung does the same, stirring in a tablespoon of cream with unnecessary focus. Taeyong takes his time before continuing, Yuta silent at his side. “Doyoung. Please know that what I’m about to say is only because I really fucking love you.”

“I know,” Doyoung mutters, caught somewhere between abject misery and the droning blankness only experienced by those who have already accepted their fate. And he’s a lot of things, stupid probably one of them, but he isn’t a fool. He knows where this is headed.

“I would ask if you’ve tried to repress it,” Taeyong begins, and Doyoung pretends not to see Yuta place a hand on his leg, quiet and comforting. “But I know you, and I’d bet money on that’s what you’ve been doing all along. Which means you can’t. The only saving grace of this situation is that if I asked you to confess to it point blank you’d short-circuit, so at least you have enough sense left to still feel shame.”

Doyoung was well-prepared for him to be blunt, but even then, he’s only human, a very emotionally unhinged, hungover one at that, and it hurts like hell. He sinks farther back into his own seat, hiding his shaking hands in his lap. “I’m not a criminal, Taeyong.”

“I know. That’s what I’m saying.” Taeyong’s eyes soften, a little desperate, and a lot of tired. Which is rich, considering he and Yuta were the ones up until nearly three in the goddamn morning and Doyoung is fully aware Taeyong fell asleep watching a concert DVD at a healthy eleven PM, as per his text log. “God, if I actually thought you’re the type of person that targets barely-adult patients we’d be having a way different conversation. We wouldn’t be _having_ a conversation. A predator would own up to it with a straight face. You’re just an idiot.”

“Is this the part where I say thank you?” Doyoung laughs, short and harsh, because he doesn’t know how else to handle it. He notes the waiter looks a little more uncomfortable each time he returns around to their table, Doyoung rattling off his order with only minimal stuttering. Taeyong’s so quiet he has to repeat it twice, and by the time they’re done Doyoung’s already lost conviction for whatever snide comment he was planning as a follow-up.

“I can tell this isn’t fun for you,” Taeyong observes, which has to take the cake for the biggest understatement of the entire year. And there’s been a lot of contenders for the title, between the two of them. “And not, like, ‘I can’t believe he seduced me’ not fun. We’re looking more at, ‘tearing me to shreds to the point where I’m legitimately worrying my best friends’ not fun.”

Taeyong opens his mouth, then closes it, and takes another ten seconds to compose himself. Doyoung can almost see him counting down in his head, several emotions that flash by too fast for Doyoung to understand moving over his features before his expression soothes back into neutrality. “You know, this call was almost a relief, because at least now I know for a fact why you’ve been such a manic-depressive disaster.”

“Technically that’s an inappropriate use of the term,” Yuta provides under his breath. Taeyong holds out an index finger to his lips in lieu of an acknowledgment, but Doyoung appreciates it. At least someone at the table understands what’s really important, here.

“I’m sorry.” He knows it’s pathetic, but it’s the only thing Doyoung has to offer them at this point. No matter how much he wishes he had more to give. “I didn’t even realize until you two said something.”

“It’s because you’re oblivious,” Taeyong says, as affectionate as Doyoung’s ever heard that phrase used. “Hence why you just now realized something we’ve seriously suspected for weeks.”

“But, like Taeyong said, we were hoping it wasn’t true,” Yuta offers, straightening his shoulders. “For the record, Taeyong brought it up first. But I think I believed it sooner, because I understand your position.”

“How obvious is it?” Doyoung whispers, hating how weak his voice sounds but unable to put in enough conviction to change it. For some reason, in this moment, it feels like he needs this answer more than he’s needed anything in his life. “Can you tell because it’s you? Or can you tell because you can tell?”

The two men across from him look at each other, matching eyes in some silent, telepathic conversation Doyoung has no illusions of being a part of. After a few seconds, Taeyong emerges to take the point, though he can’t tell if that means he won or lost the fight. “It’s because we know you. I can’t tell you whether or not it shows when it matters. That’s something you have to answer.”

Yeah, he was worried that’s what he’d say. “Alright.”

“I’m not going to tell you not to let some kid ruin your career,” Taeyong enunciates every syllable with purpose, forceful to the point Doyoung can’t break eye contact no matter how much it hurts to hear. And does it ever. “You’re an adult. If you ruin your career, that’s on you.”

“I see,” Doyoung swallows past the dryness in his throat, folding his hands in his lap. “This is an intervention, isn’t it?”

“Not exactly,” Yuta supplies, shrugging. “We bought you pancakes.”

“Right. Because that’s so different.” Sometimes, he truly does not know why he bothers.

Yuta takes a sip of his coffee, that look in his eyes he gets when he’s off sorting through his own thoughts filling the pause as he puts his words together. Doyoung, not for the first time, is convinced he would have made a hell of a lawyer. He supposes it’s lucky for his patients, and come to think of it, his own sorry ass, that Yuta chose this path instead.  “But for real, I don’t think I’d call it that. At least that’s not where I’m coming from.”

Taeyong sighs, and Doyoung knows him well enough to pin the little wrinkle in his eyebrows as betrayal, but it fades by degrees, Taeyong eventually just nodding instead of arguing against it. Yuta waits for him to settle again, continuing. “You’re not the first or the last person to be in a situation like this, but even then… You have to know your options aren’t exactly wide open here.”

“I’m not an idiot.” Doyoung can’t help the hostility that sneaks into his voice, pulse rising as a rush of annoyance flows through his chest. It’d be better if it were just a straight up intervention.

The last thing he needs is another play-by-play of what he already knows—one small move and it won’t just be moving offices, or even careers. It could stigmatize him out of any alternative. It could ruin his life. Evading any actual legal consequence is meaningless in the face of such a blatant breach in ethics. He has no delusions of being an exception to any rule, but even if he did, it’s not like he can prove it. It’s not like anyone would believe him.

He wouldn’t dare operate like that option is on the table, anyway. He’d never, not in a million years, not dead or alive or anything in between, cross that line of his own volition. There’s a lot about himself and his standards that Jung Jaehyun has called into question, but this is not one of them. There is not a single bone in his body that would ever let himself initiate anything, and the fact that both of them, Taeyong especially, aren’t leaping across the table and throttling him in public means they know that. Nothing about his behavior is going to change. Not like that.

The issue is whether or not what he’s doing right now is sustainable, or if it’s even permissible as is. And if not, then it becomes a question of where he goes from here. Does it end, or does it not. Simple as that.

Just because it’s simple doesn’t mean he has the first damn clue of how to answer it, though. But it feels good to lay it all out there. He realizes they’re waiting for him to continue after Taeyong kicks his shin under the table. “This would be easier if he wasn’t responding so well, you know?”

“So you’ve said.” Yuta quirks his head to the side, holding his mug between his hands, still tinged pink with the cold outside. “Taeil and ‘Sol think so too. That complicates things, sure, but it means you aren’t making him uncomfortable. Isn’t the most important part, if you think about it?”

Doyoung grinds his molars together, wincing against the sound of cutlery and chewing drifting into his eardrums from the rest of the room. “We’re a month or so out from being done, if the pace we’re moving at stays the same. I can think of worse. I’ve been through worse.”

“But if you can’t, then you can’t.” Taeyong folds his arms again, and it’s times like these Doyoung gets a glimpse of how the rest of the world sees him.  He has the narrow face, sharp fashion sense, and unyielding features fitting of his acclaim and industry force, and for once in Doyoung’s life, it kind of intimidates him. It doesn’t matter that he’s seen Taeyong get a concussion playing beer pong when he’s sitting on this side of the table. “If you walk out of here committed to putting it aside, content with the fact he’ll be out of your life by your birthday, then fine. But if that’s not something you can promise yourself, you can’t keep going on like this, either.”

“I know.” What else can he say at this point?

“But…” Taeyong tapers off, raking a hand back through his hair and holding his fingers against his forehead, Yuta looking at him in a way that gives Doyoung the impression that for the first time all morning, he doesn’t not have any idea what Taeyong’s about to say. The fact that they planned this conversation out isn’t surprising to him, honestly, but the selfish part of him is comforted by the fact that they still don’t know each other half as well as he knows Taeyong. Doyoung just prays for the best, and waits. “Is it okay if I put this aside for a minute and speak only as your friend?”

Taeyong doesn’t wait for his answer—the fact that Doyoung’s dying for a break is too obvious to entertain. “I’ve thought a lot about what could have landed your sorry ass in this situation. I hate to sound conceited, but for a while I wondered if it was about me.”

Doyoung quirks an eyebrow at that, but the confusion on Yuta’s face is worse. At least he’s not alone. “What do you mean?”

Taeyong sighs, not even hiding his struggle at trying to find a tactful way to phrase whatever is on his mind. “I know you’d never do this consciously. I thought maybe you felt like you had to show you’d moved on, too. But the more I think about it… You really don’t care that this is happening, do you?” He gestures at his side, as if Doyoung needs the hint.

Yuta looks at the waiter as he comes around to deliver their breakfast like he’s the promised savior, here to redeem him from damnation. Unfortunately, despite the smell of sweet, fluffy deliverance, Doyoung can’t relate. Yuta gets the luxury of clocking out of an awkward conversation. All Doyoung gets is more uncomfortable emotional revelations, just now with added maple syrup. Hurrah.

“I don’t,” Doyoung replies when he gets the chance, cutting into his stack with precision. “It’s like I’ve always said. I’m happy for you.”

“Yeah, you’ve always said that,” Taeyong twirls his fork in the air. “But you’re forgetting I know how to read you. You were always too hurt to mean it. I started to worry you were projecting feelings onto something else, so you could prove to both of us you’d moved on and _could_ be happy for me. But I don’t think that’s true anymore, or that it ever was.”

Doyoung doesn’t know if that’s a good thing or not, so he just shrugs. “I’m glad you know it’s genuine, then.”

“You probably don’t even realize it.” Taeyong’s eyes go wide, like he’s realizing something about him for the first time. He lets hand falls back down to the plate halfway through taking a bite of fried egg, shaking his head. “Maybe it felt normal to you. I don’t know. But for months, and I mean months… It felt like you were so quiet, like you had this baseline of emotion and nothing really went above or below it. And I guess it freaked me out, because I was so used to you reacting over every little thing I couldn’t even be relieved I wasn’t causing it anymore.”

“You never told me this,” Doyoung objects, even though it doesn’t take the edge off of the way every last word feels like a sucker punch in a boxing match the ref should have just let him lose five blows ago. “I don’t even know what you mean.”

“I don’t think he’s wrong, Doyoung,” Yuta says, softly, like he doesn’t even care if he’s heard. “From my perspective, anyway.”

“Then this kid shows up,” Taeyong continues, as if neither of them said a word. “And suddenly you give a shit about things again. Do you know how many times I begged you to let me meet your work friends, or for you to meet mine, and then you just decide to one day like it’s nothing? Here I was, praying for a nuclear catastrophe to unearth a sense of humor out that no fun, drier than dirt mouth of yours. I was hoping after all this time you took my advice and got laid or something. But you just kept talking about this kid. Jung Jaehyun this, and Jung Jaehyun that, and why don’t I just hand him an opportunity kids murder each other for, and oh, isn’t he something?”

“I don’t think you’ve dumped enough salt in the wound yet, please continue.” Doyoung hates him for making him so nauseous he can’t even properly enjoy the one silver lining of this situation. Doyoung hates him for always telling him the truth. Doyoung hates him for always, always being what he needs instead of just shutting up and being what he wants.

“Even when you’re not even my problem, you’re still a pain in the ass.” Doyoung’s never thrown something over the net Taeyong hasn’t spiked back right in his face. How could he forget? “All I  want to do right now is chew you out, but you won’t even let me do something that simple in peace, will you? If you’re going to be stupid enough to fall for someone at the worst possible time, at least have the decency to make it the wrong person. God. _Fuck._ ”

“I fell for you, didn’t I?” Doyoung doesn’t get the slap to the face effect he wants with that, but he can’t help but relish in how angrily Taeyong leans over to cut off a piece of Doyoung’s pancake stack for himself, scowling. “So I think I’m capable.”

“Children, we’re in public,” Yuta chides, reminding the both of them that yes, they still have an audience. Part of Doyoung feels horrible for putting their bullshit on display like this, but the other, more dominant part, figures that Yuta needs to see it sooner or later. It’s necessary for the good of his continued relationship with the both of them. “Taeyong, you were saying?”

“I was saying,” Taeyong drawls, adjusting the collar of his shirt once he’s managed to calm himself down again. “That I can’t condemn this completely. I know I should, but as someone who gives a shit about you, it’s not black and white. I’ve been waiting for you to find something that brings you out of your shell again for so long. I can’t hate him just because he’s not what I expected for you.”

“But you can hate the situation,” Yuta reminds him, though Doyoung can tell some of the resolve he had earlier is wavering. Even the way he looks at him is softer. “That’s fair.”

“I can and I do.” Taeyong closes his lips around his fork, final. “Sorry. I don’t have any solutions to offer. Those are just my thoughts.”

“I don’t…” Doyoung can’t focus his eyes on anything for too long, the room’s spinning so bad. He just needs sleep, that’s all. Just a long rest and it won’t hurt like this. “I still don’t know why you’re saying this.”

Just a few hours and everything in his head won’t be so fucked up anymore. He has to believe that. He has to believe that all of this is nothing more than a bad spell. Temporary. Fixable.

As much as he tries, the thought alone feels hollow. It’s too late to be anything other than another attempt to dodge the truth. He’s better than that. He has to be.

“Because I love you, remember?” Taeyong looks at him like he’s trying to convince him, but Doyoung has never doubted for a second he does.

With friends like these, how could he possibly forget? “I know. Thank you, both of you. For caring enough to talk to me about it and consider the situation, instead of just making assumptions. You had every right to, so it means a lot to me.”

“We can’t tell you what it is,” Yuta says, soothing, calm. It’s almost enough for Doyoung to feel like he can breathe again. Almost. “But whatever decision it is, just make sure it’s the right one.”

That, as Doyoung is well aware, is way easier said than done.

 

 

Doyoung doesn’t smoke, but sometimes life really makes him want to.

He did pick up the habit during his doctorate work for a little, if only because he hit a point where straight coffee was no longer doing the trick and nicotine seemed to be the only solution to his all-nighters and apocalyptic levels of stress. After his thesis was turned in, he kicked it to the curb, lucky that his desperation only peaked with a few weeks left to go.

Still, he remembers the buzz and relief like the back of his hand. There’s a pack of reds in the last drawer of his nightstand he bought somewhere around the first year mark with Taeyong, filed underneath a stack of stationery paper and sticky notes. It’s still half full after he takes one out to the balcony the following Monday night, not bothering to change out of his work clothes after cleaning up from dinner. It’s absolutely freezing out, and it’s just what he needs.

Leaning over the railing, he just thinks, letting the nicotine keep his mind steady and body upright. It starts with Jaehyun, but for once, he doesn’t stay there.

Admitting the reality of the situation to himself didn’t make it easier. If anything, he’s more stressed out and clueless than ever. But there’s something to be said for being able to muster up any emotional honesty at all, it’s his improved control over the proverbial Jung Jaehyun floodgate. Instead of just circling the subject of his existence aimlessly the second he pops into his head, he finds it drifting in and out with a little more purpose. Or at least a little more ease.

It starts with Jaehyun, but it’s more than that. He wanders through dozens of things, sometimes with a destination, sometimes not. His job, his life, the things Taeyong said and the things he meant, how things lead to this point or how they didn’t, and even more he can’t put a label to. He’s too tired for self-judgment, or maybe just too out-of-focus. It’s been a long few weeks. It’s been a long few years. It’s been a long winter. He still doesn’t have the answers. But tonight, he lets that not be the point. For now.

He may not have a lot of time, but he has now.

The first cigarette burns to ash, and he’s just lit up another when he feels his phone buzz from his back pocket. He’s in half his mind to just forget about it, annoyed that his long introspective tirade has been interrupted, but with a sigh, he opens it up, already resigned to what he’ll probably see.

 _By the way, isn’t Thursday Christmas?_ Jaehyun writes, Doyoung scanning the message in full after struggling to get his phone to recognize his half-frozen fingerprint. _We should probably reschedule, right?_

Doyoung smiles at that without thinking, because it’s so like Jaehyun to take initiative with this. Especially when they both know Doyoung’s the one that dropped the ball on it in the first place. Surprisingly enough, he really did just forget. He’d never do something that intentionally, no matter how scared he gets. _Yes, we should. Sorry, I should have asked you last week._

 _It’s okay, I should have remembered sooner._ There must be something about smoke that gets him sentimental, or else he wouldn’t feel his chest tug at something so mundane.

Doyoung starts his reply, but before he can finish, Jaehyun writes and sends his own. _Can I call you? It might be easier to set a time that way._

Considering they’re both replying in real-time at a reasonable pace, it’s unnecessary, but if Doyoung has been digging his own grave for weeks now, what’s another nail in the coffin? _Sure, go ahead._

Enough time passes that Doyoung starts to believe he’s forgotten about it, or maybe just changed his mind on second thought. About halfway through the current cigarette, though, the phone rings in his hand. For the sake of appearances, he lets it ring a few times before answering. “Hey, Jaehyun.”

“Sorry, I bet this seems weird.” There’s something in Jaehyun’s voice, just below the surface and a little… Doyoung can’t say it sounds ‘sad’, not with certainty, but it drags down his tone and Doyoung feels his own shoulders slump down farther over the rail, listening close. “I just had a moment where… Well, it doesn’t matter. I just felt like it might help to hear someone’s voice.”

“Are your roommates not at home?” Doyoung asks, watching his breath in the air as he exhales.

“Mhmm,” Jaehyun hums, voice low. “They’re not from around here. Chittaphon left this morning, and Johnny’s been in America since Thursday. It’s weird having the place to myself when they’re always so loud.”

Doyoung laughs a little at that, happy to hear it returned back in his ear. “Yeah, I got the hit they’re not the quiet type.”

“I still feel bad about that,” Jaehyun admits, some rustling in the background breaking up his words, almost like he’s rolling over. The thought of Jaehyun calling him from bed makes him feel a certain type of way he’d rather not dwell on.

“You shouldn’t.” Doyoung winces, realizing he may have been too forceful the second it leaves his mouth. If Jaehyun feels that way, he doesn’t react. Doyoung lets the silence sit, taking another drag. “You’re probably busy this week, right? If it’s better, we can just pick up again next Thursday and you won’t be charged.”

“Do you have anything sooner?” Jaehyun asks, a little breathless. He seems to catch himself, all traces of it gone after a pause. “If not, that’s alright. I thought I’d ask.”

“I have a cancellation tomorrow at eleven,” Doyoung hums. Normally it’s not something he’d remember, but he got the text just a few hours before, right as he was leaving the office. It’s either a stroke of luck or just plain fate that it’s stuck in his head. “I know that’s pretty short notice. You should be spending time with your family. I can check my schedule for early next week?”

“Ah, that’s…” Jaehyun starts, but seems to think better of it, a sigh and another rustling of sheets interrupting his thoughts. “Don’t worry about it, hyung. I’ll take it, if that’s alright with you.”

“Of course,” Doyoung nods, masking a cough by clearing his throat. He’s way out of practice with this, but that’s probably a good thing. “I just hope it doesn’t interfere with any of your plans.”

“It doesn’t,” Jaehyun assures him. For a split second, Doyoung wants to be at his side, wonders how much nicer the winter air would feel if Jaehyun were curled up next to him, under a blanket, under his arm. It’s warms him from the inside, the intensity of it not so much scaring him as much as it just makes him ache all over again. He closes his eyes, inhales, and clears his mind. “I think… I think sooner is better. There’s something I want to say.”

“Then tomorrow,” Doyoung agrees, fighting against the drop in his stomach. “I’ll see you then.”

“Wait, hyung.” Doyoung wasn’t even moving to hang up, but he stills, immobile as he waits for Jaehyun to continue. From the other end of the line, he can hear him breathe, slow and steady. “You shouldn’t smoke. It’s bad for your health.”

Jung Jaehyun was sent from forces above to destroy him. Nothing else would explain the way he feels. Nothing else would hurt this much.

“You’re observant. Don’t worry, it’s not a habit.” It’s down to the end anyway, but Doyoung still makes a show of snuffing it out on the railing. Even though he knows Jaehyun can’t see. “Have a good night, Jaehyun.”

“Yeah,” Jaehyun replies, barely above a whisper and intimate in a way Doyoung is sure can’t be intentional. “Thank you for talking to me. Good night.”  

Doyoung spares a glance at the time as he clicks his phone screen off, and figures he has about twelve hours left to live.

If nothing else, it’s a beautiful night to be his last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I got a little too ambitious. I was thinking I could fit it all into the original plan, but in the end it needs another whole chapter so I can wrap it up the way I want. Which is something I've been suspecting since like, halfway through chapter three. Whoops. Hopefully that's a good thing? 
> 
> For the record, it's totally possible to get a concussion playing beer pong. Not like I know from experience, or anything like that.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's a new concept: I stop promising you all when I will or won't actually reach the final chapter. It's probably the next one, but at this rate, who the hell knows? Enjoy the ride.

The first sign something is wrong is the coffee.

The coffee isn’t wrong. It’s actually perfect, Doyoung’s exact order, to be precise. It’s just that Jaehyun brings it for him. In the equilibrium of their increasingly fragile universe, it’s _off._ Off this late in the game can never be good.

Doyoung figures Jaehyun would probably be the type to do that sort of thing, small little tokens of appreciation to show he’s paying attention. The problem is that Jaehyun is bringing _him_ coffee. Jaehyun, who shows up in the same sweater-and-jeans ensemble every week with bags under his eyes and worn-down boots, who never seems to really want to impress him much at all. That worries him.

He’s on the Christmas card list of clients he saw last during his residency. This sort of kindness isn’t uncommon. The devil, though, as always is in the details. The cup has his name on it, they put the exact pumps of vanilla syrup he likes, and Jaehyun gives it to him with bloodshot eyes and a hand that shakes a little, no matter how hard he tries to pull the sleeve of his jacket over it.

The therapist in him wants to comment on how he looks nothing shy of road kill, but that version of him is operating under the assumption that everything is otherwise just how it should be aside from that, and it’s not. The air is different, thick and stifling. So instead, he just asks how Jaehyun managed to know his order.

“Oh, I asked Johnny,” he explains, kicking off his boots and ignoring the open futon for a seat at Doyoung’s desk like he owns the place. He might as well, at least for the next hour. Doyoung stays perched on the edge of the mattress, letting the heat from the cup warm his hands. “I hope it’s fine. It’s just what you ordered last time from him.”

“He must have a good memory.” Doyoung doesn’t quite know how he feels about that.

“Yeah, he remembers everything.” Jaehyun holds his own cup close to his body as he drinks, and Doyoung thinks it might be cozy if it didn’t make him look so small. The way Jaehyun says it makes it hard for Doyoung to argue, not like he doubted that about his roommate in the first place. He seems like the type. “I left way too early by mistake, so I thought I might as well.”

Doyoung doesn’t believe it for a second. Even if he didn’t have as good of a feel for him as he does, there’s no way someone who carries themselves the way Jaehyun does would do something like that without it being intentional. If he gives himself the benefit of the doubt, maybe, just maybe he would have accepted that excuse as legitimate in the first few weeks. After all, it’s the explanation that Doyoung wants, and the one he’d undoubtedly be most comfortable with. That’s why Jaehyun’s giving it, in all likelihood.

It’d be wrong of him to let him get away with it. That time has long passed. “Thank you for thinking of me. I know it’s out of your way.”

At least Jaehyun has the decency to avert his eyes, caught but still avoiding letting that show on his face. “It’s nothing. Really.”

He doesn’t know why, but the year always ends this way.

It’s getting wrapped up in a scarf and knee-length overcoat only to never stay warm, hands and cheeks still red even as the hours pass. It’s the somber silence that follows a pause in the conversation that shouldn’t exist. The pounding, the sickening push of his blood in his ears and the cold that spreads throughout his body, his thoughts, and into the air around him the very second he realizes it’s gone. It’s never coming back. The weight on his shoulders from knowing that things have stacked up and up and up and something that has gone on for too long must now come to an end. It’s inevitable, after all, like the last leaf falling off the tree outside the rail station.

Jaehyun feels like this. Tired. Numb.

If the last few weeks have been a hurricane, Doyoung feels more or less like he’s staring at the wreckage. It’s not exactly a pretty sight.

There’s no good way to rip the bandage off, so he just does it. “You said you had something to talk about.”

Jaehyun sets his cup down, and then picks it back up again, chewing at that one part of his bottom lip, as always. “Right. I was hoping you’d have something today, so I couldn’t use the extra time to talk myself out of this.”

Doyoung shifts, crosses his legs, and does what he has to. He always does what he has to. “I’m always here to listen to what you feel ready to say. I’m glad you want to, but I don’t want you to force yourself if it’s going to be too much. It’s not like we don’t have time.”

It’s almost a farce, giving such a mundane, unassuming answer like that. But for the sake of his sanity, he has to at least pretend it’s relevant. Jaehyun shakes his head. The corners of his mouth pull up, but it’s humorless. Not like he expected anything different. “It’s not really ever going to be a great time, so it might as well be now. I’ll feel better if it’s now. Thanks for your concern.”

“Always,” Doyoung says, because he means it. He reaches for Jaehyun’s hand before he can think it over enough to keep it inside, and Jaehyun looks at him like he’s not quite sure what he should do. Finally, he wrenches his left hand off of his coffee and lets it slip inside Doyoung’s, delicate and cold to the touch. He brings his chair a little closer, letting his wrist fall against Doyoung’s knee. “I never want you to feel… Well, you know the monologue.”

“I do,” Jaehyun nods. He still won’t look at him, but for now, Doyoung’s fine to go on pretending like it’s not his concern. “Listen… will you promise to just let me talk until I’m done, no matter what you think?”

Doyoung is really, really not sure he can manage that, and especially not with the way Jaehyun’s hand still feels so limp in his, or the way that sweater really must be the biggest in his wardrobe. “I’ll do my best, Jaehyun.”

“I just want you to know I’ve thought about this a lot,” he begins, heaving out a breath like he’s preparing for a sprint. Judging by the look in his eyes, and from Doyoung’s own experience with set-ups like this, that’s more or less the truth, probably. “I wouldn’t be saying this if I hadn’t. Trust me.”

“Alright,” Doyoung says, before snapping his jaw shut. He figures it’s probably not the appropriate time to joke about not interjecting. He does his best imitation of a smile, but it’s about as flat as Jaehyun’s tone.

“I…” Jaehyun drifts off, and Doyoung can see it, the way his eyebrows scrunch together in pain and how he can’t hold onto a sentence. He can read people with the best of them, but even if he couldn’t, he’d know enough to dread this with him, even if just out of empathy alone. No part of Jaehyun wants this, and Doyoung is already sure no part of him wants it either. But it is what it is. “I don’t know how to say this. It’s not going to come out right.”

“Then let it come out wrong,” Doyoung offers. “It’s alright. Trust me, you never have to come in with a polished speech ready.”

Somehow, Jaehyun doesn’t look comforted by that, but at least he gave it a shot. “I guess…”

With a small sigh, Jaehyun closes his eyes, squeezes Doyoung’s hand, and pulls away, adjusting so he’s sitting cross-legged on the chair. When he opens up his eyes again, he’s farther away, so much that Doyoung feels like he might as well be somewhere else entirely instead of sitting hardly more than a foot in front of him.

Doyoung lets him drift, even though it stings. He knows the feeling.

“I think it’s easiest to start from the beginning, so stick with me.” Jaehyun’s straightens his shoulders, but it does little to convince Doyoung, or even himself from the looks of it that it means anything. “You hid it really well, but you never really understood why I chose you, right? I don’t think Taeil did, either. I’d ask if you ever figured it out, but… I think it’s fair for you to know from me.”

“I generally try to accept the answers I’m given,” Doyoung shrugs, folding his legs to match Jaehyun’s position and scooting in from the edge of the mattress. He has a feeling he’ll need all the stability he can get. “I didn’t want to pry, but yeah, I did wonder if there was more to it. Go on.”

“It’s stupid, now that I think about it,” he grimaces, adjusting the collar of his sweater. “But if you’re with someone for so long, you don’t think clearly afterwards, I guess. After the shock wore off, I was so frustrated with being in my head all the time. Some people can just go around, try out new people, rebound, whatever. I’m… not a person who handles that well, but I didn’t know of anything else to clear my head.”

“So is that what you did?” Doyoung asks, working to keep even a shred of judgment out of his voice. It would explain his snap reactions to Doyoung’s questions about his history but… No, he shouldn’t assume.

“Ages ago, sure.” Even now, Jaehyun doesn’t look comfortable admitting it, his shoulders and voice falling. “But not this time, no. I really try not to repeat mistakes, believe it or not. So I tried to ask Taeil for something better without really bringing it up, and he mentioned that you have people here that focus more on relationships and… Wow, okay, you’re going to think I’m terrible for this.”

“I doubt that.” Maybe it’d be healthier if he could, but he can’t. He doubts there’s anything Jaehyun could say that would make him see him as anything less than someone worth believing, someone worth extending the benefit of the doubt to no matter what. He’s complex and flawed, of course, Doyoung’s skilled enough at what he does to know better than to romanticize anyone like that, but none of it changes seeing Jaehyun as someone worth holding in such a high esteem.

There’s nothing wrong with doubt, in this situation. And what he doesn’t say out loud can’t be held against him.

“I thought this would shock me into moving on,” Jaehyun explains, talking with a free hand while the other remains glued to his cup. It’s something Doyoung’s never seen him do, the caffeine and anxiety apparently making him jittery enough to pull out an entirely new arsenal of nervous tics. “I was desperate for intimacy but too scared of getting kicked in the ass by old habits to even try. Then I heard about you, and it seemed like the perfect excuse. No strings attached, literally. Knowing it’d be this cold, clinical awkward nightmare made it sound even better, because if I could fake something with you, maybe it’d make something real feel worth it again.”

Jaehyun pauses and looks at Doyoung like he expects him to interrupt, to take offense, reject him, even punish him. If Doyoung didn’t know better, it’d seem like he’s almost begging for it. The most powerful thing available to him is silence, so Doyoung lets it stretch, denying him any reaction he could possibly want or expect behind a calm, even mask of attentiveness.

It scares the hell out of him, and as much as it makes Doyoung’s chest twist to knock him off-balance to the extent he so clearly has, this is a situation where there’s no other choice. He has to prove him wrong. Anything else would be an injustice.

By degrees, Jaehyun’s expression falls until his mouth settles in a thin line, neutral. Resigned. “I know it doesn’t make it better, but I wasn’t trying to use you, or undermine the value of what you’re doing with people. I just saw it as a solution. It worked up until the point I realized how fucked up that is.”

“I don’t think it’s fucked up.” Doyoung chooses his words slowly and with care, folding his hands and locking his fingers to hide the tremor they’ve developed. “I think it’s incredibly brave you were able to recognize you didn’t want to regress into destructive habits. I’m not kidding. It takes a lot of strength to look for a better out. If that’s what brought you here, how could I possibly think that’s wrong?”

It’s not a rhetorical question. Thankfully for the both of them, Jaehyun is smarter than most. He gives his answer to the floor. “Because it wasn’t honest.”

“Wanting to get better is always, always a good enough reason,” Doyoung urges, because Jaehyun needs to see it. This is something he can’t blame himself over, and the fact that Jaehyun expected others to justify that shame breaks Doyoung’s heart. Just a little. But he feels it. “Everyone has a story why, but if that’s what brings you here, that’s good enough for me. It is.”

“It’s so hard when you talk like that.” It’s so quiet, Doyoung barely catches it. For a second, he wonders if that’s what he even heard at all, but Jaehyun does him the favor of erasing any doubt. “To remember that you only say things because you have to.”

Something catches in Doyoung’s throat. “I say it because I mean it, Jaehyun.”

“As I was saying,” Jaehyun clears his throat, managing to look up again and turn his eyes towards the fish tank. Doyoung thinks that one of the most charming things about him is the way that always seems to calm him down.

Doyoung’s still coming to terms with just how many things about him he finds charming. He might not ever really get there. Jaehyun continues, softer. “I was okay with that for a while. Maybe the first month or so, I think? But then I started to realize that wasn’t why I kept coming back.”

Doyoung doesn’t want the answer, but he needs it. “Then why?”

He pauses, seeming to weigh his answers with a slight tilt of his head. Doyoung blinks up at him, patient, until he speaks again. “I think at first it was because I genuinely was learning a lot. It was crazy, like you were helping in ways I didn’t even know I needed. I mean it when I say you’re really, really good at this. It’s hard to imagine anyone else making it all seem as natural as you do.”

“I’m still young,” Doyoung puts a hand to the back of his neck, shrugging. “I’d say most people in the field are better at this than me.”

There’s not a trace of modesty in that. If there’s a God above, there has to be hundreds upon hundreds of people good enough at this to not have the one person on this earth they can see themselves falling in love with pay them for the privilege.

“Maybe as far as their patients are concerned,” Jaehyun shakes his head. “But not in my eyes, because the longer I kept coming back… The more real it felt.”

Doyoung doesn’t ask what he means, because the second he tries, the air deflates from his lungs, and his jaw snaps shut, the space between them suddenly too precarious to touch. He sits back, silent and more than a little terrified. Lets him speak.

“You’re so talented, don’t you get it?” There’s a hint of bitterness in Jaehyun’s voice, but it’s hollow, like he’s given up on the feeling behind it. “With you, it seemed so easy to open up in ways it takes me years to, if ever. I mean, I know that’s kind of what therapy’s about, but even then, everyone else had to spend months wrenching it out. Then I saw you, and I actually wanted let you in. The more I got to know you, the more I felt like you wouldn’t reject it. I wasn’t afraid you weren’t going to laugh after work about some crazy shit I said, or silently think I was stupid, because you cared. I really got that feeling.”

The past tense makes his head hurt, like there’s a migraine coming on and even the lights of the room are just seconds away from blinding him. Somehow, despite how weak he feels and how small his office seems, he holds it all in. The only thing he shows on his face is that he’s still here, still listening. This time, he doesn’t even try to offer up his own words.

“By the time I…” Jaehyun coughs behind his hand, taking another sip of his coffee. Doyoung has almost forgotten about his entirely, and when he goes to drink some of it down past almost full, it’s gone lukewarm. He drinks it anyway, if only for the distraction. “It took me way too long to get what was going on here. But one day I woke up and realized that seeing you wasn’t giving me any incentive to find something real. Nothing about it was any more appealing than the day I first walked in. Nothing. If anything, being with you made me want it less.”

Doyoung feels like he’s going to be sick, without the privilege of being drunk to take the edge of the panic. He doesn’t even know if he’s remembering to breathe.

“It was easy when I thought it was normal,” Jaehyun continues, but he’s losing conviction, the small grip he has on whatever he’s using to ground himself seeming to slip. Doyoung wishes he could rescue him from that, but that would require keeping himself together first. “You were the best part of my week, every week. For an hour I’d walk in and I’d be with someone I love talking to, who clicks with me in a way so few people do, who makes me laugh and understands my God-awful sense of humor. It was incredible, spending time with someone I can be myself around and still feel valued, still feel important. I didn’t think anything of it, because you’re so good at this. I thought that was the way you made everyone feel.”

_No,_ is what Doyoung wants to say, the thought hitting him like the lightning bolt he’s spent weeks praying would strike him down. It feels like worse than nothing, now that it’s here. _That’s how you make me feel, Jaehyun._

“But that’s not, is it?” Jaehyun’s voice spikes at the end, in pitch and volume. He’s clinging to the sleeves of his own sweater, desperate. In the space between his words, he loosens it, but he’s still talking like every word burns his throat. “That’s not how this works. It’s just me. It’s just my problem.”

All the air’s knocked out of his lungs, his thoughts black and buzzing and he can’t do this. He doesn’t have it in him. There’s nothing left for him to hold himself together with.

The space that’s left between his words feels like an ocean’s worth, deep and dark and impossible to cross.

“It’s not uncommon for patients to fall for their surrogates.” Doyoung doesn’t even know he’s talking until he’s hearing his own words lingering in the air. Maybe this is his last defense mechanism, the survival mode that kicks the last working part of his brain in gear and throws out the only thing he knows in order to save him. And after all, what does he know better than this? “We’re fulfilling an incredibly intimate role. An attachment is natural.”

“Don’t,” Jaehyun snaps, and Doyoung’s caught off guard by the force of it. It’s the strongest he’s sounded all afternoon, and for the first time, he looks as tall as his height. He meets his eyes by degrees, unyielding. “Do you honestly think I haven’t spared that a Google search or two? Do you expect me say all this not knowing what I’m up against? Don’t insult me. I’m not bringing this up just because it’s easy to romanticize the way you treat me.”

Something on Doyoung’s face must have slipped, because the second Jaehyun comes up for air, his eyes soften, and he’s back to that small, curled up state, drawing back into himself. “I’m sorry. I just… Please don’t tell me what I feel when I’ve been dealing with it for so long. This is so fucking hard. Please don’t make it worse.”

“Tell me why, then.” Doyoung is so afraid of the answer. “Why did you decide to bring it up?”

Jaehyun lifts his shoulders, inhales, and breaks. “Because I can’t do it anymore, hyung. I have to convince myself there’s something else I want more, and I can’t do that and see you at the same time. Right now there’s not, and that’s not fair to either of us. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t understand,” Doyoung urges, in lieu of all the things he wants to say instead. Jaehyun doesn’t understand. It’s not him whose feelings are wrong. It’s not him who should be apologizing. He doesn’t owe him anything. He doesn’t get it. He’s not the one feeling too strongly. He’s not. He’s _not_. “You don’t… Please, you have no reason to be sorry.”

“I do.” Jaehyun’s voice goes flat, words cadenced and almost unnatural. He looks Doyoung up and down and straight through him, slow. “You know, once or twice I almost thought… The way you act sometimes threw me off, it’d almost seem like I wasn’t alone. You’d look at me and I couldn’t believe you’d look at everyone that way.”

Everything in his head goes blank, leaving only a cold, numb horror in its wake. In his chest is that horrible, gut-wrenching feeling of realizing just how much is at stake without a thing in the world left to use as a defense. He barely even hears the rest of Jaehyun’s words.

“But I’m just projecting,” he decides, after a beat of silence. “That, or you knew that’s what I wanted, and you just were showing me you care.”

No. _No._

“The fact you even entertained that,” Doyoung can’t hide the unsteadiness in his voice anymore, tripping over his words and stuttering out a semblance of coherency like it’s almost more than he’s capable of. It is. It so completely is. “Means that this is on my shoulders. Professional behavior on my behalf would never have left that impression. I was the one who allowed the line to blur, and it’s my fault that you had the opportunity to feel this way about me in the first place. Letting it get to the point where you’re saying something… It’s unacceptable. I should have ended this whole thing weeks ago.”

Jaehyun just looks at him like he’s grown two heads. “I don’t know what you’re trained to do in this situations or whatever, but I guarantee making this your fault won’t actually help me feel any better. It just is what it is. You’re just doing your job.”

Doyoung matches up to him, searching over every aspect of Jaehyun’s countenance with the same intensity, hot and almost angry. He doesn’t even know how badly he wants Jaehyun to actually believe what he said until he doesn’t find a single trace of acceptance there, once again coming up with the exact same answer he always does.

“For what it’s worth, you did it well.”

He doesn’t even know. Jaehyun has no clue what he does to him. And if he does, well, then he’s a better person than Doyoung will ever be, at this rate.

If Jaehyun is trying to do everything in his power to make this as painful as possible, it’s working.

“Then what do you want to hear?” It may be the worst thing he’s said yet. But at this point, he figures he has nothing to lose on it. “Because, Jaehyun, no matter what you might want from me, now that I know your thoughts on this, it’s my obligation to end our professional relationship. There’s something here that isn’t right, and regardless of how or why, that’s the only option on the table.”

He knows how he sounds and what he looks like—cool, casual, and maybe even a little cruel. It hurts more than he can process to see Jaehyun flinch from it, but nothing less would convince him to buckle down and stick to what he knows, to the only thing he trusts.

Distance is the only way to handle it, because there’s a small, crazy part of him that wishes he could just let the floodgates open, tell him how he feels, how he really feels. That he’s not alone. That he’s spent this entire time losing his own mind to not even know, to not even understand, and that Jaehyun doesn’t deserve to feel that isolation any longer, either. That it hurts too much to just let this slide away, that if this wall wasn’t up between them, if they hadn’t met in this awful, dead-end circumstance, if they just had the opportunity to _be_ , that there’s a spark there Doyoung doesn’t want to give up. That they could, maybe, just maybe…

Doyoung has spent the past three months thinking he’s going insane. But right now, staring down the inevitability of what he has to do, he realizes he’s not. He’s in every bit of his right mind. If he were insane, he’d take the chance and disregard everything he’s ever known. For a brief, terrifying moment, it’s the most romantic thing he’s ever imagined. It’s gone before long, and even though it’s cold and lonely, it’s clear. And clarity is what he needs most, at the end of the day.

Sometimes, he wishes he were crazy. But Doyoung is, at his core, a rational person. An ethical person. And as hard and as horrible as everything about this is, he refuses to fail where others in his position have. If not for his sake, then for Jaehyun’s.

It’s all for Jaehyun. All of it. It’s his only motivation.

“I know,” Jaehyun says, quiet. Final. “That’s what I was going to bring up. You’ve helped me a lot, hyung. I mean that. I’m grateful to you for so many things, more than I think you know. That’s why I think it’s better to end on this note than let it get worse.”

Doyoung can’t help but grimace, because it’s already too late for that, but he softens after a second, nodding. “That’s mature of you, Jaehyun. Not everyone is strong enough to think like that.”

“I want what’ll be best for both of us in the long run,” Jaehyun shrugs, smiling in a way that’s more than a little sad, but so, so beautiful on him. “It’s nothing more than that. Believe me. If I did what I wanted, it wouldn’t look like this. I just know I want more than you’re capable of giving.”

“Exactly. That’s why,” Doyoung has never met anyone like him, he’s sure about that now. Now that the thought is in his head, he wonders just how long it’ll take to get it out again. He sighs, letting go of some of the tension in his body, but not enough to feel like release. “I’ll write up the formal letter of dismissal before next Tuesday. You don’t have to worry about anything.”

“Just like that?” Jaehyun asks, though Doyoung gets the feeling it’s more to himself than anyone else in the room. “When I ran this through in my head, you argued more.”

It’s not meant to be an attack, but it probably just proves his own guilt that Doyoung takes it as one. “I want you to be in the best possible state of mind you can be, Jaehyun. If I’m no longer benefitting that goal, it’s only right to step aside.”

“You’re always too kind,” Jaehyun hangs his head, running a hand back through his hair. “You really are.”

A long, heavy silence follows. From the outside, there’s the rush of traffic and the cluttered sound of the densely packed streets. Inside, there’s only the clock, their breath, and all the things neither of them want to say. It’s deafening. It’s surreal, sitting here and realizing that the weeks and weeks he’s spent memorizing Jaehyun’s life, his patterns, his place in Doyoung’s life, all come down to nothing more than this. Two cups of cold coffee and this bottomed-out emptiness in his chest.

It’s a strange feeling to fall in love with something impossible. It was arrogant of him to think he’d ever be above it. For all the time he’s spent clinging to his education, his knowledge, his intelligence, his credentials, just to keep himself afloat, none of it matters in the face of the quiet. None of it at all.

But Doyoung knows better than to break it.

Doyoung always knows better.

It could be five minutes, it could be an hour for all Doyoung knows, but finally, Jaehyun speaks up again. “I should leave, probably.”

“If you want to.” The clock reads ten until the hour, which is maybe the most unnerving part of this all. Doyoung runs a tongue over his chapped lips. “We have a few more minutes, technically. You’re paying for them if you want them. You could just talk about your day, so you don’t have to leave on this note.”

“Why not?” Jaehyun’s back to that flat, unaffected tone, but it has a shade of color to it, this time, even if it’s pale. He curls in, humming as he racks his brain. “Lessons are going well. I almost have a three full pieces down.”

“Great, that’s awesome.” Doyoung hates how he doesn’t sound like he means it in his own ears, but he hopes Jaehyun somehow understands that he does.

“I can tell your friend is pissed I won’t sign on,” Jaehyun pulls his heels up onto the chair and folds his arms around his knees, leaning his cheek down and peering up at Doyoung behind the sleeves of his sweater. “But I like what I’m doing. Everyone says the bar musician stage is the worst, but I don’t mind it at all. I’d rather move up by gaining traction and getting better, so as long as that’s happening I’m satisfied. I still see him and that psych from upstairs at the 127. He told me not to say anything, but I figure it doesn’t matter now.”

Fuck Lee Taeyong.

Doyoung cracks a smile anyway, because there’s a ghost of one on Jaehyun’s face again, too. From the part he can see of it, anyway. “Yeah, that sounds like him.”

“I still want to hear you sing,” Jaehyun admits, so small that Doyoung barely hears him. “That would probably be weird at this point, though.”

Doyoung isn't crazy. But at the end of the day, he’s still human, and he can’t hide his selfish streak. Not as perfectly as the books say he should. Not when there’s truly and honestly nothing left to lose. “Do you listen to much Nell?”

Jaehyun lifts his head a few inches, blinking up at him like he’s struggling to fully process his words beyond face value. “Here and there, sure.”  

“One of my favorites is _Four Times Around the Sun_ ,” Doyoung explains, swallowing. His heart is beating faster than he would like, and he’s not as inconspicuous as he would like in clearing his throat, but that’s what he gets for poor decisions on the fly, after all. He pauses, trying to think of any transition that won’t make him feel more awkward than he already does.

When there’s nothing, he gives up, tests his pitch, and begins.

Like most things in Doyoung’s life, he only realizes how absolutely mortified he is to be doing what he’s doing about halfway through, the heat rising in his cheeks fast and hard enough to burn. He hasn’t sung formally outside of his shower in years, and it shows. But he’s good, and at least Doyoung has the confidence to know he’s good to make up for how frayed his nerves are, or else he’d be completely out of luck, and well, no one wants _that_. At least he had the foresight to pick something in his range out of his little private set list.

Mostly he can’t believe himself, but Jaehyun’s staring at him with those wide, soft eyes and it’s too late to go back now. This is the best last memory he’ll get of him, curled up with his knees against his chest, watching him like he’s the only thing in the universe and that his rusty, unpracticed rendition of something he hasn’t ever sung for an audience that isn’t his cat is worth listening to. Like he’s worth listening to.

That’s the way Doyoung wants to remember him. That’s the way he’ll always be his. If he gets nothing else, he’ll at least have this moment. It’ll be enough. He’ll make it be enough.

In the end, he only brings himself to sing a few lines before the embarrassment is too much and he snaps his jaw shut, rubbing at the back of his neck with averted eyes. For a moment, Jaehyun says nothing, waiting to see if it’s really his turn to comment.

Once his last note has faded from the air, Jaehyun exhales, shaking his head. “I take it back. You _are_ really good. I mean that. You have a talent, definitely.”

“I did a lot with it when I was younger,” Doyoung explains, shrugging. For some ridiculous reason, he still can’t bring himself to look him in the eye. “Not so much now. You’re smart for sticking with it.”

“Did you ever want to pursue it?” Jaehyun asks, lifting his chin to rest on his forearms instead of down on his legs, one eyebrow quirked up.

It’s been years since Doyoung’s been asked that question, he’s almost forgotten just how much it stings to give the answer. “Yeah. Really badly.”

“Why didn’t you?”

It’s been even longer since he’s heard that one. It doesn’t hurt quite as much, but maybe that’s only because he’s talking to Jaehyun about it. In fact, he’s sure that’s the only reason. “The right doors never opened up. I wasn’t as aggressive as I needed to be.”

Jaehyun hums, and not for the first time, Doyoung dreams of a world where they had met on the street, outside of a nightclub, at his roommate’s coffee shop, or just a week sooner at the bar he first heard him sing. Jaehyun makes him dream of a world without regret, without the questions that linger in his head.

Jaehyun makes him want everything all at once, sometimes. Except for a world where they hadn’t met at all. “I won’t give up on it, then.”

The clock keeps ticking down, and Doyoung only has a few minutes left to say it, if he’s going to say it at all. “Listen, Jaehyun.”

Jaehyun straightens up even farther, propping himself up with an elbow on his knee and his cheek in the palm of his hand, attentive. When he says nothing, Doyoung continues, too tired to try and stop the way his voice shakes. “Don’t…. Don’t get too hung up on this. Promise me that. You have so much to give to whoever is lucky enough to receive it.”

With as much grace as he’s capable of, Doyoung pulls himself to his feet, crosses the distance between them, and extends his hand. Jaehyun blinks up at him, down at the floor, back up again, and offers up his own, palm fitting perfectly against Doyoung’s.

They stay together as Jaehyun stands, Doyoung patient as he chews on his bottom lip. “You too, hyung.”

Doyoung pulls him in, just a step, and presses one small, chaste kiss to his forehead. He closes his eyes. Counts to three.

When he opens them, he lets go, and turns to look out at the streets of his city until the only breath he hears is his own.

  
  


It’s mostly okay. Except for the parts where it’s not.

There’s a lot of parts where it’s not, but out of his therapeutic grab-bag of coping mechanisms he’s consistently fumbled at incorporating into his own life, he’s still managed to cling to a thing or two.

He particularly likes the parts about not wasting emotional energy on what he can’t change. In a perfect world, it would allow him to bounce back, accept what is and what isn’t, and simply chip away at what he can control.

Some days, on the good days, that’s what he does. His work gets done. He meets with patients. He sees his brother and his friends and even makes a few new ones. Gets the number of a coworker of Taeyong’s he thought was cute a while back. Takes it one day at a time.

On the bad days, it’s an excuse to just get through the day, pour a glass of wine, and turn on Netflix until it has to ask him if he’s still watching. It’s the voice in the back of his head that repeats over and over that no, he can’t change it, so what’s the use trying to fight the effects?

There’s nothing he can do to change the situation. There’s nothing to stop Thursdays feeling empty, or the forced smiles when Yuta and Taeyong get too familiar, when Gongmyung starts going on about his engagement, or the nervous feeling in his chest that he didn’t say enough that day. Nothing at all. It just sucks, and that’s that.

The bad days don’t happen that often. Not the really bad days, anyway. Most of them fall somewhere in between. The best, and maybe only good, part about time is that it always manages to take things farther and farther away from what hurts. Most days, he wakes up, a little off balance, a little empty, but does his best, and does what he can.

With Taeyong, there’s parts of those first few months he doesn’t remember at all, because he wasn’t really _there_. Sure, he was there in person, but his mind was always somewhere else, to the point where some days, he felt distant from his physical surroundings, his sense of place. He knew about dissociation as a concept, of course, but it was harder to recognize in himself. It wasn’t until he woke up sometime in late March and realized there were colors that weren’t just muted down off-sepia that he accepted he might have had a remarkably rough time with it all.

This time, it’s better. He’s older and wiser, sure, but it helps that there’s an entire part of his life that’s remained untainted. He has bar after bar that doesn’t remind him of Jaehyun. He has an entire apartment he’s never set foot in, friends that have never seen his face, a family that has no clue he exists. There’s something to be said for that separation, and that separation lets him section off a part of his life where he’s free to recover without that influence. Looking at it now, it’s a luxury. Jaehyun didn’t have years to rattle around in his skull and disrupt his entire life, even if it feels that way. It was only a few months, and Doyoung is a full-grown adult with a real job and real responsibilities and he’s not going to mope around every day over a kid he barely knew. He’s not.

(Doyoung always thought that once he got past his twenties, he’d get his shit together and be a real adult. The older he gets, the more he realizes that adulthood, by and large, is a scam.)

He has moments though, where he’ll look up from his paperwork and realize hours have passed in what he thought could only have been fifteen minutes tops and he hasn’t eaten since noon and he feels like absolute, unrelenting shit and he misses him so, so fucking much and his entire pathetic excuse for an existence is a disaster.

But, well, there’s nothing he can do about that, so he just shakes it off and keeps moving forward.

Yuta thinks it’s for the best, because of course he does. Maybe to people who don’t know him as well, Yuta seems like the kind of person who’d be unusually liberal regarding this, but Doyoung knows better. It’s not like he has some sort of dogmatic reverence for the doctor-patient relationship, but he sure as hell doesn’t have any new-age delusions that it’s okay to warp it, either. Whatever personal opinion he has is overshadowed by his general life philosophy of _don’t be fucking stupid_.

Any other decision would have been fucking stupid, so Yuta is as optimistic as Doyoung’s ever seen him be regarding his life and his choices. Doyoung was smart, and that’s all Yuta hopes for in situations like this.

If there was any doubt Yuta is one of the best friends anyone could ask for, this entire situation has stripped Doyoung clean of it. Yuta lends his support in a weird, kind of calculating way, but Doyoung feels honored all the same. The fact that he stood by his side without climbing up on his soapbox means he had enough faith in him to trust he’d make the right choice in the end. Doyoung’s pretty sure it’s not just his ego that makes him think it’s one of the highest compliments Yuta gives.

But as soon as Doyoung lets it slip that he’d sent out Jaehyun’s formal dismissal, he could practically see the tension roll of Yuta’s shoulders, the gears turning in his head. He wasn’t going to end up having to get on his soapbox, or worse, bail him out of some unhinged self-induced catastrophe. Thank God, for the sake of both their sanity.

For his part, Taeyong seems to take Yuta’s side, but Doyoung has a sinking suspicion there is a difference in him between taking Yuta’s side and actually agreeing with him. If there’s anything he knows about Taeyong, it’s that what he feels on the surface rarely holds up against any sort of deeper examination. He doesn’t have to wait long to be proven right on that front.

Taeyong holds his conviction for about a month, which is record time as far as Doyoung’s concerned, before he starts to slip. It isn’t obvious at first. A little crinkle in his eyebrows when Doyoung sighs too loudly, tiny asides asking if he’s doing okay, a pointed silence when Yuta says something too dismissive… Doyoung’s not out of it, and while he’s not exactly with it either he picks up on it more and more frequently as the days pass.

It’s not only when the subject of work or romance or Doyoung’s mental state comes up, either. If that were the case, he’d probably dismiss it as just Taeyong being Taeyong, which is to say the biggest worrier he knows. The issue is Taeyong seems to look off-center and uncomfortable every single time they talk. It’s just the most obvious when it happens to be on topic.

Doyoung knows enough to not be worried it’s something he did to hurt him specifically. He’s never been reserved about confrontation on that front, and Doyoung seriously doubts he’d start now. He’s not comfortable enough in his ability to handle the answer to press, and it wouldn’t end well even if he was. So Doyoung lets it be, and tries his best to be normal. Calm. It’s fine.

Still, it’s hard to really get a firm read on what exactly Taeyong _does_ think underneath it all. As December fades into January fades into February, more often than not Doyoung doesn’t get a _sorry, just got off work_ , text until sometimes ten, eleven at night. They keep in contact, of course, but the nights they have free to actually do things in person are infrequent at best, and most of the time his eye circles take up half his face and he’s off somewhere else in his head anyway.

Maybe his exhaustion has something to do with it not settling right with him, maybe he always would have felt this way, Doyoung doesn’t know. Doyoung’s birthday comes and goes without upsetting the fragile balance of Taeyong’s silence, but right before the calendar flips over to March, he breaks.

“Are you going to the trainee showcase this year?” Taeyong asks, folding his noodles over and over with his chopsticks without eating them. It’s late, close to midnight, and the tiny restaurant Doyoung took him to after a particularly long work week is empty aside from a small group of teenagers in the opposite corner. Besides the rattle of the kitchen winding down to close and the low drone of their chatter, it’s quiet.

Doyoung blinks, a few seconds passing before he realizes what Taeyong’s even talking about. “If you’re inviting me, yeah, I was planning on it.”

Taeyong hums, leaning his chin in his hand. “I didn’t know if… You know, you wanted to put yourself in that situation.”

Through the miracle of emotional repression, Doyoung still doesn’t understand what he’s getting at. “Trust me, it’s not awkward between Sicheng and I at all. We’re friends.”

Taeyong rolls his eyes in a way that makes it clear even that much effort is wasted on him. “Jesus, you’re dense. Are you ever going to learn how to take care of yourself, or are you always going to need me to hold your hand?”

Doyoung frowns, genuine annoyance rising in his chest despite himself. “I know you’re tired, but I could really do without the hostility.”

“Trainees include studio students, too.” Taeyong finally manages to eat something instead of just stabbing at it angrily, though he goes right back to it in between bites. “It’s not just our idol program kids. It’s dance students, acting students, _vocal students_.”

Taeyong emphasizes the last item like Doyoung needs everything explained to him like he’s five, and it’s times like these he most remembers why he used to kind of want to murder him in cold blood some nights. Doyoung’s heart drops, but he buries it with a sip of his tea. “You said it yourself, I am nothing more than a patron of the arts. As a community member, it is my right to take my patronage where I please.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you have zero redeemable personality traits and will die alone?”

“You, multiple times.”

Taeyong sighs, slumping forward over the table. “Please stop acting like this doesn’t bother you. You’re not good at it.”

“Did you know I used to keep a physical written list of places I couldn’t go because I was afraid I might run into someone I had a thing with once?” Doyoung stares at the red-and-black embroidery on the divider behind their table, directing his eyes just above Taeyong’s head. “It was miserable. I couldn’t even go to the campus library. I’m thirty-four. I’m over it.”

Taeyong just stares at him, long and hard. The shadows really don’t do him any favors as far as not looking like a walking, worryingly thin zombie is concerned. For a second, Doyoung has the honest urge to make the conversation about whether or not Taeyong is really okay, but it’s gone the second he considers how it’d probably just prolong the current train of thought. The silence stretches on until Doyoung gives up. “Let me guess, he’s ten years younger than me and not over it.”

“I mean, sure, when you put it that way.” Taeyong shrugs, short and robotic. “But I’m not that selfless. I’m running on about two to three hours of sleep for the past two weeks, and right now it’s your mopey ass I have to deal with. You can’t possibly think it’ll be just fine and dandy to see him, or you’re worse off than I thought. What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing’s wrong with me, Taeyong.” Doyoung hates this, because he knows what’s going on here. This script has been played out before, more times than he wants to admit. Taeyong’s trying anything and everything to get under his skin, and if Doyoung’s smart, he’ll just ignore it. Refuse to engage. Push it aside.

“You know,” Taeyong muses, but he’s overacting enough to let the bitterness show. Doyoung can almost see the poison dripping off his horrible snake fangs. “I can’t decide what’s going on in your head half the time. Maybe you are this helpless. But sometimes I think you just really love being miserable.”

Doyoung can say that about himself no problem, but it’s another whole ballpark when someone else does it. Especially Taeyong, who knows better than anyone on the planet what old, bruised nerve that strikes. Everything in his body is telling him to let it slide off, to just let it go. He should. He really shouldn’t let this happen. He knows he can’t handle it.

“Do you think I’m having fun over here?” But after all, Taeyong wouldn’t try to push all the wrong buttons so much if he wasn’t so good at it. If it didn’t almost always work. He nearly breaks off the tip of his chopsticks slamming them down into his bowl. “Because I’m really not. I don’t know what crawled up your ass, or what your slavedriver of a company is making you do, but I can guarantee neither of those things are my fault, so don’t take it out on me.”

“Right, because nothing is your fault.” For however good at Taeyong is at pissing him off on purpose, Doyoung always manages to be just as skilled without even planning it out. He just swings, and somehow it hits. Every single time.

They could have killed each other if they tried. Sometimes, Doyoung is surprised they didn’t.

Doyoung opens his mouth to speak, but Taeyong cuts him off, voice low but even more intense than before. Doyoung doesn’t flinch. If anything, he leans in closer. “Nothing is ever your fault. You just do whatever and feel whatever you want, and what anyone else feels means nothing to you because oh, but you can’t help it! You’re just going on with your life, you’re just doing your best. You’re just handling it.”

“Are we even talking about the same thing right now?” Doyoung fires back, both an honest question and an accusation.

“We are,” Taeyong snaps, placing a hand to his forehead and glaring up at him. The exhaustion in his eyes doesn’t take the edge off the meaning. “You don’t think about anyone else. You haven’t asked me even once how I feel. You haven’t talked to me about this at all, Doyoung. Three months. You said what happened, and that was it. I gave you your distance, and I’ve tried to be subtle, but I can’t anymore.”

“Since when do my feelings have to be about you?” Taeyong has said some twisted things in the heat of the moment, but he can’t get his arms around this. “This entire situation has nothing to do with you. It never has. I get it, you’re pissed you don’t own me anymore. But you’re an idiot if you honestly think you can still get away with trying to play this game with me. I’m not going to ask your permission to have emotions.”

He doesn’t realize how loud he’s gotten until he stops, the quiet of the room absorbing him. In the corner, the table of teenagers have stopped their own conversation to stare, the burn of their eyes drawing him into himself, shame creeping up his neck. Taeyong is silent for a long time after that, and when he speaks, the tension breaks, dissolving and falling heavy at their feat.

“No, and you shouldn’t.” Taeyong pulls his shoulders up, exhaling and squaring his jaw. He pauses, and Doyoung counts three long breaths before he continues. “You don’t owe me anything. But you have to understand what this all looks like from where I’m sitting. How it feels to…”

He tapers off, and something about the look in his eyes changes. His expression softens, hands shaking a little as he folds them in front of him. In a lot of ways, Taeyong has changed more than Doyoung gives him credit for. He’s calmer, more centered, happier. As angry as Doyoung still is, there’s a twinge of guilt as he realizes how often he denies him that. “Stick with me here. Please.”

Doyoung hopes he doesn’t regret this. He matches Taeyong’s posture, open and vulnerable, and takes a breath. “I’m listening.”

“Do you remember that trip we took to Hong Kong, right after you graduated?” Taeyong asks, meeting Doyoung’s gaze straight on.

“I don’t know what this has to do with anything, but yeah, of course I do.” In a lot of ways, it’s one of the clearest memories he has of them. It’s the one he kept turning to on the nights he missed him most, where he was absolutely convinced the worst part about them was that somehow, through it all, they were so, so in love.

It hurts like hell, and it doesn’t make him feel better to see that reflected back at him. “I know you think I never felt anything real for you, or whatever.”

“I don’t think that,” Doyoung interjects, even though he knows Taeyong won’t acknowledge it.

“I really did, Doyoung.” Taeyong drops his voice to just above a whisper. “Because when you actually let yourself loose and feel things instead of shoving everything down because your own emotions scare you to death, you’re incredible. And that was the freest I ever saw you, because for once, you stopped trying to pin yourself down. It’s still one of the best weekends of my life, you know.”

“You’re only saying that because I let you do that weird candle wax thing.” Doyoung figures that’s the closest he’ll ever get to telling Taeyong he agrees.

“I keep thinking about that, lately.” He admits, tracing patterns across the wood of the table with his index finger. “If I’ve ever seen you feel that much about… anything since. Things fell apart for a lot of reasons. We know that. But one day, you just shut yourself off. You decided the fear of emotional intensity was more important than making it work. I didn’t know how to get it back. I still don’t know.”

Doyoung doesn’t know why he says it, but out of some stupid, nostalgia-ridden impulse, he does. “Do you ever think if we could have worked it out, we’d still be together? Should we have tried harder?”

“Oh, God, no.” Taeyong gives the answer before Doyoung has a chance to breathe. “Like, first off, it was impossible, and second off, we would have been miserable. More miserable, I mean. I’ve entertained that idea, sure. But I know better now.”

“You’re dying to tell me why, so just do it.” He should have seen this coming, really. “Nice walk down memory lane we’re doing in public, by the way.”

“I’m not the one screaming,” Taeyong rolls his eyes, tapping his fingers on his forearms in thought. He furrows his eyebrows, focused. “I know you aren’t going to believe me, but I’m trying to be rational about this. It’s just an observation, so take it or leave it, but the only time I’ve seen you like that since was with that kid.”

Doyoung swallows, hard. “Taeyong…”

“I may not like the reason why, but you actually seemed like a human being for once in your life. As someone who cares about you, going back to our regularly scheduled dead inside programming isn’t exactly easy for me to watch.” Something in the way Taeyong looks at him, steady and straight in the eyes, replaces every retort Doyoung was mulling over with radio static. “It’s a shitty situation, water is wet, whatever. But he brought out a side of you that I had really, really missed. I got used to it, which I guess is on me.”

Doyoung opens his mouth to speak, but Taeyong shakes his head, and he lets it fall shut again. Somehow, he’s forces himself to wait for Taeyong to compose his next thoughts, the seconds ticking by on the hanging wall clock adjacent to their table. “I keep waiting for you to snap out of it. I know that’s not your strong suit, so I just worry seeing him might make it worse.”

Doyoung stares at his hands without really seeing them, mind blank and jittery. He’s processing Taeyong’s words on some level, but not consciously. It’s enough to string together some level of coherency, but he barely registers what he’s saying until he’s hearing it back in his own ears. “I think I’ve been handling it well. Compared to a lot of things.”

“The bar isn’t that high, sorry to break it to you.” Taeyong throws back the last of his water, stirring the ice cubes at the bottom with a flick of his wrist. He closes his eyes, and doesn’t open them until he’s finished talking. “If you have a better argument, I’m all ears. I’d love it, really.”

“I told him really early on that my patients don’t exist to me outside of my office,” Doyoung mutters, staring out at the lights of the street beyond Taeyong’s head. Like all moments of clarity in Doyoung’s life, this one is unplanned, made up on the spot, and sounds better in his head than it ever does out loud.

He just starts talking, and prays the rest will follow on its own. Somehow. “He argued that you can’t avoid someone that you aren’t supposed to know exists. Professionally, I disagree. But in this situation… it’s not a bad rule of thumb. This showcase isn’t going to be the only thing I’d otherwise be at, and if I avoid every situation where we might see each other, what message does that send? That his feelings made me so uncomfortable I have to put my own life on hold just to keep to myself?”

“It sends a message that you’re concerned about boundaries,” Taeyong quips.

“Right,” Doyoung deadpans. Of all the people in the world, it’s so goddamn rich to hear Taeyong try and wax poetic to him about boundaries. “Because you’ve always cared about that so much.”

“Whatever. Talk to me like I do.” At least he’s a self-aware hypocrite, if nothing else.

Doyoung runs a hand down his face, rubbing at his eyes and masking a sigh. The realization that he’s exhausted comes hand in hand with a newfound awareness that he’s been exhausted for the past three months solid, probably.

Maybe longer. Definitely longer.

“If I was unconcerned about boundaries, I’d have ulterior motives. I don’t.” Doyoung clears his throat. “I want to live my life without hiding just as much as I don’t want to leave him with the impression that I’m hiding. It’s the least I can do for both of us, at this point. It’ll hurt more if I’m constantly calculating what I’m allowed to do. That’s not the way to forget someone. I know you’re concerned, but I want to go. So let me.”

“So you have nothing to say to him? Nothing that would make you seek him out again?”

“Nothing.” Taeyong is baiting him, and for once, Doyoung wisens up and gives his answer before he can let it sink in and sway what he hopes to every God that may or may not exist is honest. “He has his life, I have mine, and that’s the end of it. I swear.”

Taeyong leans back in his chair, arms and legs crossed with an unreadable expression. Slowly, over the past few months, Doyoung has started to see a change in him. Taeyong’s stature, his attitude, the way he carries himself… it’s become so different from the way he seemed when they were together. He doesn’t feel like a different person, not really, but rather just a version of him that Doyoung didn’t shape. In a way, it’s a relief. He wonders sometimes if Taeyong sees something in him, too. But never enough to ask it out loud.

“Alright,” Taeyong says after too long of a pause, each sound of the word rolling off his tongue. “I won’t block the coex entrance, it’s your life. But if you regret it, I get to say I told you so.”

Doyoung rolls his eyes, because it’s easier and less incriminating in the long run to not deny or affirm his words either way. He’s a realist, after all. “What are you, twelve?”

In the glow of the neon and the streetlights and the melting warmth of springtime, Taeyong just smiles, which after all this time, Doyoung only knows to interpret as his way of saying that they’re still alright. Doyoung returns it, a little nervous, a little softer, but through it all, he feels a piece of his life shift back into place.

  
  


Doyoung already has his fist clenched in preparation by the time Taeyong leans over, taps him on the shoulder, and whispers directly into his ear, “I told you so.”

Doyoung wants nothing more than to fire back that no, Taeyong did not tell him so, because he’s not regretting the fact that he’s here so much as he’s regretting the fact that he didn’t consider who else might be. For the record, things were going absolutely fine until now. He was intentionally late so they had no excuse to linger in the lobby and mingle, and sitting in the dark of the audience near the front guaranteed that his thoughts had no room to wander to any other patron other than the one at his side.

Any low, droning, constant feeling of gut-wrenching anxiety he may or may not have been feeling since this morning was coincidental. He was here, wasn’t he? There was no reason for him to regret standing up to his fears and refusing to cave in, especially when an ‘I told you so’ was a walk in the park compared to the grief Taeyong would have given him after all Doyoung’s talk about not feeling a thing over the prospect of seeing someone he hasn’t been able to get out of his worthless brain in months.

But he supposes it’s nothing short of cosmic karma that Jaehyun isn’t even the catalyst for this. It probably doesn’t hurt that Jaehyun hasn’t performed yet, but the real reason he looks like he’s seen Hell itself when he slinks back into his seat after a quick bathroom break in between sets is something he really should have seen coming, but didn’t. Because he’s an idiot.

It goes down like this. Doyoung walks into the washroom and leans over the sink, turning on the water as cold as it goes. He’s too focused on dousing his face to notice if anyone’s there or not, and he waits until he can feel goosebumps forming underneath the sleeves of his dress shirt to reach for a towel. A neat stack of four are dispensed in his hand before he can even grab some of his own, but when he looks up to hank them he feels his heart catch in his throat.

“No problem, man,” Johnny replies, leaning his back against the counter. Doyoung has no idea how long he’s been there, but from the look on his face, he can only guess the answer is long enough.

For a long, painful moment that has to rank as one of the top fifteen most awkward of Doyoung’s adult life, neither of them say anything. Johnny looks as professional as Doyoung’s seen him between their brief meetings, his hair slicked back, a blazer hugging his chest, eyes sharp. Up close, he looks older than Jaehyun, rougher around the edges, and it’s all the more obvious in the way he’s staring Doyoung down, arms crossed and gaze neutral, but unyielding.

The tension gets to Doyoung first, and he clears his throat, struggling to find his voice. “You’re, uh, here to see Jaehyun, yeah?”

“Me and Chittaphon,” Johnny nods, once. “You’re here with the producer.”

It isn’t a question, so Doyoung doesn’t bother answering it. “That’s kind of you two. You seem like good friends to him.”

The silence ticks on, and whatever Geneva-banned intimidation tactic Johnny is employing with it, he’s skilled. Or maybe Doyoung’s just easier than most, and easier now than ever, to crack. He says it before he can think to take it back, more sincere than he knew he was capable of. He watches Johnny’s eyebrows raise. “I’m sorry. I hope he’s doing well.”

Johnny just blinks at him, the two falling quiet as another, unknown person enters and disappears into a stall. With a sigh, Johnny lowers his voice. “Why are you apologizing?”

_Because it’s obvious. What we had wasn’t normal. You had to have known I wasn’t innocent._

Out of the noise of his thoughts, all Doyoung can muster as a verbal reply is nothing more than, “It feels appropriate.”

However Johnny feels about that is completely lost on him. The only thing that changes in his expression is how the mild curiosity in his eyes falls flat again with a hum. Still, despite the coldness he’s radiating off in waves, Doyoung doesn’t feel like he’s a frightening person, deep down. He can see the gears working, though, and that’s where he decides the intimidating vibe is coming from. Johnny’s making a calculation in his head, and Doyoung just hopes it works out in his favor. “I mean, I appreciate it, I guess. But I’m not the one that needs to hear it.”

Well, that’s some logic Doyoung can’t argue with, and he honors that the best he knows how by ignoring the subject entirely. “I don’t want to miss more than I already have. If you’ll excuse me.”

Johnny holds up two fingers in a wave, and follows Doyoung out, disappearing down the other side of the hallway to the left entrance while Doyoung heads along to the right, adjusting the collar of his shirt with too-sweaty palms. He waits until the current stage ends, signaled by the faint sound of applause from behind the audience door, and sneaks back in down to the rows to his seat, where he forgets to smooth out his expression before Taeyong can sneak a glance at it. Mistake number one.

Taeyong doesn’t take his eyes off him once as Doyoung sits down, which does nothing to help the way his entire body is only barely yielding to his will. Taeyong’s mouth falls into a smile, inquisitive, and Doyoung just heaves out a sigh, weighing the consequences of silence with just cutting his suffering short and telling the truth. More than ever in his adult life, he’s been finding lately that when all is said and done, he’d rather end it swift and quick. “I forgot about his friends.”

“Ah,” Taeyong replies, mouthing the word more than he says it. Doyoung lays his hands out across the arm rests, counting to three as he breathes in until he’s certain there’s nothing on his face but calm neutrality. “Which ones?”

The next set starts up again, this time from the dance students. It’s choreographed to some sort of heavy, bass-laden electronica, which makes it loud enough to whisper without disrupting anyone around them, provided they get close enough to hear each other. Taeyong has no reservations with that, unsurprisingly, leaning in to put his chin on Doyoung’s shoulder as he speaks. “I just ran into his bandmate.”

“Your face had me worried it was a ghost,” Taeyong remarks, dry as ever. Doyoung rolls his eyes. “Did he threaten to kick your ass out by the dumpster or what?”

Doyoung rubs at his temples, just above his eyes. Maybe it’s the music, but he never fails to feel his age at these sorts of things, now more than ever. “No. Nothing like that.”

Guilt is a funny emotion, and one that Doyoung has always found a special sort of fascinating, from a psychological standpoint. It’s most often thought of as something all-consuming, a feeling for sleepless nights and binge drinking and quiet moments where it drifts to the front of otherwise blank thoughts. That’s the shameful sort of guilt, the kind noticeable from a mile away in clinical settings.

Back when Doyoung was a novice, he figured that was the only kind there really was. But the more he’s looked, the more he’s found there’s a quieter kind, too, that’s less ashamed and more regretful. It’s not the feeling that something was _wrong_ but that something more could have been done _right_.

That’s a little harder to identify, on both sides of the chair. It’s an unassuming passing ‘what if’, or the nagging itch that maybe there was a missed opportunity, somewhere. It’s not hard to draw out, and that easiness puts it under the radar of louder feelings.

Being good at other people’s emotions has never made Doyoung an expert on his, no matter how hard he’s tried. Things that are painfully obvious to anyone that looks at him for too long always tend to fly over his head. Maybe that’s just the kind of person he is.

Taeyong’s looking at him like he’s waiting on an explanation beyond what woefully inadequate one Doyoung has already provided. Instead, Doyoung just shrugs. “It’s fine though. It just didn’t cross my mind, my mistake.”

It’s not long after that before the vocal section of the program starts, because of course it’s not. Time has never really been Doyoung’s ally in much of anything. Just to twist the knife in, Jaehyun goes second to last, putting Doyoung through three different roller-coaster rounds of heart palpitations and building muscle tension. By the time he finally sees him walk across the stage, he’s too emotionally exhausted from the wait alone to feel much of anything.

Maybe, in some poetic, more cohesive version of his life, he’d feel some huge, romantic pain in his chest leading to an earth-shattering revelation of the things he should have said that changes it all around. Instead, as he watches Jaehyun pull the sleeves of his black sweater up over his forearms and grab hold of the microphone, he just kind of feels numb. It’s just a thing that’s happening in a long string of things that happen, or whatever. It is what it is.

Jaehyun’s so, so much better than he remembers. He’s singing something Doyoung recognizes, vaguely, an old TVXQ midtempo ballad he used to hear on the radio now and again. For some reason, the idea of Jaehyun’s voice navigating something like this never crossed his mind, but now that he’s hearing it, it’s hard to imagine anything else. He hasn’t mastered the instrument, not even close, but the edges have been sanded down, and even when he strains up to the climax of the lines, it’s worked into the overall shape of the measure, more neatly folded in to the stronger parts of his range. It’s emotional, practiced, and takes all of his attention. He’s almost, almost too busy thinking about the sound to consider who’s making it. Why he’s standing there in the first place.

Despite it all, the first emotion he’s able to identify is pride. The improvement, the chance to even stand on this stage, the fact it’s bringing him closer to something Doyoung knows is his dream… he’s taken advantage of this to its full extent, that much is clear. Doyoung may have started it, but Jaehyun is responsible for the rest. No one could have asked for anything more of him.

Doyoung never entertained the idea that Jaehyun wouldn’t be okay, not in any meaningful, life-altering way. He knew he’d pick himself back up, probably better than most would give him credit for. But it’s something else entirely to see, and in a selfish way, it’s comforting.

He smiles when it’s over without thinking, but when Jaehyun walks off again to applause and the adrenaline fades, all Doyoung really registers is exhaustion, and the faint question of what Jaehyun would sound like singing that same song under his breath, laying on his back on Doyoung’s futon at some late hour of the night at his side.

It’s not the first time he’s shown up in some version of Doyoung’s life when his thoughts start to drift, but it never manages to be any less jarring when he catches himself doing it. It never manages to suck any less, either. It is what it is.

Taeyong doesn’t say anything, for once. He doesn’t have to. They’re silent for the rest of the program, only about a half an hour more, but for all Doyoung knows, it could have been days. He’s stir-crazy and tired and while he wouldn’t go as far to say that Taeyong was right, he really just wants to go home. Sleep whatever the hell is going on in his head off. Just let it be over.

“I just need to talk to a few people,” Taeyong dismisses over his shoulder as they make their way towards the doors, which kind of makes Doyoung want to strangle him on the spot, because they both know Taeyong knows exactly how much Doyoung wants to crawl out of his skin. He can read him like a fucking book. “You can wait outside if you want, though. Get a drink.”

Alcohol sounds really lovely right about now, as far as he’s concerned. He doesn’t remember how he got there once he’s outside, away from the crowded celebration in the lobby, away from the throngs of scouts and coaches and parents and label employees, away from the seeping sense of claustrophobia. He didn’t even realize how badly he was suffocating until he takes in the first breath of cool night air, stopping at the edge of the pavement right up against the streets of the city.

For a second, he takes the time to breathe. It’s dark and chilly, the air thick and the traffic loud. Something in his head feels fuzzy, a little wrong, like the signal’s gotten lost. He blinks without really seeing what’s in front of him, or behind him, and that’s fine. He just stands there, for however long it takes until he feels like the universe’s turned the right way up again. Others start to flow out after him, but not too many, and never in huge waves. Just a few people, brushing past him on the sidewalk and turning down towards the street corner farther down. He loses track of who’s who after the first few. He knows better than to expect Taeyong any time soon.

By the fifth time he sees the light in the corner of his eye turn red, the world’s not spinning anymore. Doyoung draws his head up, looks to his left, and all hopes of sleeping early are crushed in a matter of seconds.

“Am I allowed to ask what you think this time?”

Jaehyun’s flushed from the cold, sweater sleeves pulled down over his hands and every single coherent thought in his head turns and runs the other way, leaving Doyoung alone with nothing but his honesty, an unfortunate companion at a time like this.

He takes a deep breath in, and caves.

“Yeah, I guess you are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this update was slow, and probably underwhelming. Life happened pretty aggressively, mostly in good ways, I think. But it left less time for writing, and as a result the latter half especially was written like, a page at a time over the course of a month. I think things are falling into rhythm again though, and now that the story is winding down to the last big point I had planned, I hope I don't have to make y'all wait as long. I got impatient with not having anything posted, so the self-editing on this might be shoddier than normal. Thanks for hanging in there.


	7. Chapter 7

Throughout his life, Doyoung has always considered that above all, his true talents probably lie in two things: lying to himself, and withholding the truth from everyone else.

It’s funny, how easy it is to stack one after another on top of each other. Navigating it isn’t so hard, after a while. Like with anything else, it becomes second nature after practice. Once you learn how to curate your mannerisms, speech, and inner monologues to reflect a certain reality, it’s no longer necessary to look over your shoulder, paranoid, to see if anyone has noticed. No one pays that much attention. In your own head, it’s easy to deny unwelcome truths.

Doyoung had learned this all by the time he was about seventeen, when he sold his friends, his teachers, the school social worker, and most importantly himself on the notion that he was only living with his nineteen year old brother because it was more convenient for his parents.

That convenience had absolutely nothing to do with the fact he was sleeping with a kid at his brother’s art school and Doyoung was absolutely, mind-numbingly horrified of what they’d do if they found out that no, he wasn’t planning on going out with that beautiful girl from church his Mom adored. He wasn’t planning on going out with any girls at all. His only romantic plans involved getting high and making out to German arthaus films with the very male, very beautiful Zhang Yixing, whose prestigious dance awards could almost assuredly never overshadow his gender. Doyoung had no intentions of proving himself correct.

But it wasn’t about that at all. He just wanted to get out of their hair, that’s all. Make their lives a bit easier. He’d be on his own soon, anyway.

Doyoung had mastered it by the time he was twenty, when he spent weeks practicing, recording, and editing audition tapes for half the music colleges in Seoul only to delete them all from his hard drive the day Gongmyung accepted his first film role. His brother had made something of himself, after all. Now the spotlight was his. He was already denying them all so much. An uncertain career change would only make matters worse. It was only his duty.

It wasn’t because he was afraid. Not in the slightest.

This talent is what makes him so good at his job. It’s what makes him so good at life, he’s often certain of that. It’s never been hard. He’s never had to work at it. It all just melts off his back, effortless and light. He’s never been prone to weigh himself down with all the things he can’t handle, all the complete truths he’s safer to deny. It’s just who he is.

Not even Jaehyun makes it hard. It’d take a lot more than a beautiful kid with guitar-calloused fingers and a sharp tongue to undo years and years of practice, of perfection. They come out like clockwork. They come out before Doyoung can even think to stop them. It’s how it always is.

“We shouldn’t talk long.”

Jaehyun blinks at him, innocent. “Do you have to be somewhere?”

_Yes. God, yes. I have a very busy night of wallowing in my own self-pity and unresolved emotions over you and they require my full and undivided attention and must be completed entirely alone so if you will excuse me, I’ll be on my way._

“I came here with Taeyong,” Doyoung explains, rubbing at the back of his neck. It’s absolutely freezing out, and the longer he stands, the harsher it cuts through his clothing and down to his skin. “I don’t want to keep him waiting. You know how he is.”

“I do,” Jaehyun hums, drawing his arms to his chest for a moment before letting them drop, averting his eyes. “I just ran into him on my way out, actually. He said you were looking for a drink.”

“And I don’t want to keep him waiting.”

“Then I’ll go with you,” Jaehyun says, gentle, but firm. Doyoung doesn’t miss the point, shrinking back a step and brushing against the streetlamp. “I’ve waited three months, so he can wait a few more minutes.”

Doyoung feels each bone in his body shift as he sighs. Every muscle in his body aches and he doesn’t even know why. He doesn’t want to know why. “If I told you that you couldn’t, would you listen?”

Jaehyun considers this by taking a step closer, and Doyoung can see his breath in the air, wishes he could feel it’s warmth. Sometimes, he can’t help but kind of hate himself. “If you really meant it, of course I would. I’d never violate that.”

There’s something almost funny about the absurdity of this all, but Doyoung doesn’t dare laugh. “I mean it, Jaehyun.”

He puts so much conviction, so much seriousness in his voice that he’s all but sure it’ll take. Doyoung looks him dead in the eyes and everything. For over three decades, Doyoung has watched that tone of voice drive away almost everyone that pry themselves in too close to his heart, anyone that touches something too similar to honesty. Doyoung makes it easy for people to accept him at face value. That’s the point.

“You don’t, though.”

In retrospect, he should have known Jaehyun was smarter than that.

The worst part is, it isn’t even an accusation. Jaehyun’s brows are knitted together, like he’s studying him, really trying to decide whether or not Doyoung’s safe to believe. There’s nothing smug about it, even though it’s absolutely the answer he knows Jaehyun wants to arrive at. It’s an honest, scientific conclusion.

It cuts deeper than the cold by far. Jaehyun continues before he can respond. “I don’t understand a lot of things about you, that’s fine. I don’t need to. But I know enough to tell if I’m being shut out or not.”

Doyoung rakes a hand back through his hair, hard, digging into the strands. It could use a cut, and it’s only then he notices Jaehyun’s taken a few inches off his in the time since they’d last met. “You have to know what this looks like, from my perspective. You have to know why I’m not comfortable with this.”

Jaehyun takes another step forward, and this time, Doyoung doesn’t move, just rolls his shoulders forward and pulls his coat around him tighter. Sometimes, and only when he’s around Jaehyun, he feels so much younger than in reality. Or maybe it’s just that Jaehyun feels older, no matter how dangerous that line of thinking is. He doesn’t know which implication is worse. “Of course I do. But what are the odds of it meaning anything to anyone tonight?”

His first instinct is to fire back, _relative to the odds of me running into you again that first day we met, statistically speaking._ For better or worse, he has just enough of a filter left to keep it down, hoping instead a similar idea is conveyed in the way he tilts his head, incredulous. “It’s always a safer bet when it’s not your reputation.”

“It’s freezing, Dr. Kim.” All Doyoung can do is stare at him, jaw tight, because of course he knows Jaehyun has it in him to twist the knife in just the right way. He’s been on the receiving end of it before, but after all this time, it still hits harder than the last. _Dr. Kim_ , his ass. “I’m going to keep arguing with you either way, can we at least do it inside?”

Doyoung’s relationship to suffering feels more like an old friend he just can’t seem to shake, now a days.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Doyoung prepared for the possibility that Jaehyun would seek him out, even if he took care to never let that on. If nothing else, he has a firm commitment to setting realistic expectations, and this was something he would have been a fool to be caught off guard by. That he’d dig his heels in was the part that didn’t feel realistic enough to entertain, which is his fault. It should have been obvious he isn’t the type to let things go quickly, if literally nothing else. But somehow, that isn’t the worst part of this.

The part he feels really, truly unprepared for is the three feet of space they’re putting between them in every direction. Reaching out, even if just to brush something off his shoulder or rest a hand on his… he never realized just how intrinsic touching him it had become until now, where crossing this unspoken No Man’s Land would destroy whatever fragile equilibrium exists. If it exists at all.

The occasional reversal of their roles feels final, somehow. Doyoung searches for something in Jaehyun’s face that shows it’s just as hard for him only to find nothing even close to comfort. Jaehyun just stands there, unflinching, and all Doyoung can do is cave, again. And again.

“I didn’t realize you…” Doyoung tapers off, trying and failing to fill in the rest with anything that won’t incriminate either of them, justified or not. He gestures between them vaguely, the lack of professionalism far from lost on him.

Jaehyun smiles, all teeth, eyes soft. Whether it’s the mix of guilt, exhaustion and pure, selfish desire to sneak whatever ill-gotten minutes he can pry out of him—or just the way that look always makes him melt—Doyoung hates how ready he is to follow him.

He should fight him on it. He wants to fight him on it, to tell him all the reasons why whatever closure he’s searching for has already happened. Underline in bold that anything more than a quick chat by a stoplight is already too much. Whatever Jaehyun’s still feeling, he has to do it on his own. Just like Doyoung is. Just like Doyoung feels like he’ll be doing for quite a while.

But Jaehyun smiles, and it’s over. It’s easy enough to pretend like he doesn’t want him when Doyoung’s home alone and trying to convince himself he’s doing just fine in life. With Jaehyun standing so close, Doyoung feels like he’s one wrong move away from breaking down in the worst way. If something has to give to stop the lump in his throat from turning into something worse than a simple concession, there aren’t a lot of options left on the table. It is freezing, after all.

“Don’t worry, I won’t let this go against you,” Jaehyun says, barely above a whisper. It’s meant to be comforting, Doyoung can tell by the way he draws in and loses just a little of his edge, but the effect’s lost on him. “I’ll be careful. I promise. Don’t treat me like I don’t understand you.”

“I’m not comfortable with this,” Doyoung replies, because he’s always had a penchant for stating the obvious. “I know you know better.”

The, _that’s why I’m entertaining it_ , goes unspoken for both their sakes.

“I just want to talk to you,” Jaehyun continues, shaking his head. He’s biting his lip again, and Doyoung aches at a cellular level. He doesn’t even have the words to reciprocate it, and he grits his teeth against the realization it’s probably the only comfort he has. It’s dangerously easy to use Jaehyun’s exceptional status as an excuse when he keeps getting smacked straight in the face with reminders of it.

He realizes a little too late that’s probably what he’s been doing all along.

“Just once,” Jaehyun says, after a pause. Doyoung’s aware it was supposed to be his to fill, but he doesn’t trust himself that much. Jaehyun doesn’t seem to mind. “Then I’ll leave you alone, I promise. Otherwise, I can’t guarantee I won’t try again.”

Doyoung is Dr. Frankenstein, and Jaehyun is his metaphorical monster. Or something. He’s losing feeling in his toes, the thin boots he’s wearing faltering under the pressure of the wind. He takes a deep breath in, counts to three, and exhales.

“You’ve come a long way, Jaehyun.” Doyoung’s ears buzz with traffic and people, drowning out his own voice enough to let the words out. “You might not get what you’re looking for out of this. Whatever that is.”

“I know,” Jaehyun shoves his hands into his pockets, shrugging. Doyoung wonders if anyone could look as effortless in acting like his entire face isn’t tinged pink with more than the cold. “Thank you for trying anyway.”

In the quiet, Doyoung wonders whether or not he’d regret walking away more than he’d regret living with himself after crossing this boundary in a way that can’t be reversed. Up until now, there was nothing to hang himself on. Not that could be traced. Not that could be proven.

As a former patient, and one removed by time, there’s nothing in what Jaehyun’s proposing that would absolutely, without question result in termination. As far as the letter of the code is concerned, anyway. Interpretation is more individualized, and even if every doctor doesn’t necessarily believe relations with former patients are on the same level as violating the boundaries of current ones, no one would bat an eye if it ended a career, either. Even just meeting in public toes things too close for comfort.

If he crosses this line, the implications of his choice are clear. He respects the sanctity of his position less than he cares about Jaehyun. It doesn’t matter if he’ll get away with it, just like it doesn’t matter if he’s technically allowed. If the moral principle is thrown aside, he’s already lost.

The worst part is, he knew the answer before he even asked the question.

Yuta keeps a quote on top of the desk in his flat in Japanese. When Doyoung asked about the translation, he picked up a piece of paper, and wrote it out in Korean. From there, Doyoung put that on his own work desk, and promptly forgot about it entirely until Doyoung takes the first step in Jaehyun’s direction and watches his face light up.

_We are all going to die. I intend to deserve it._

He makes a mental note to ask Yuta to write it out for him again, and laminate it this time.

Doyoung looks at anything but Jaehyun, and hangs his head.

He never did learn how to refuse him.

“Is this the best thing I can do for you, Jaehyun?” Doyoung asks, though it sounds too much like a plea in his own ears for comfort. “Be honest. Say you’ve thought this through.”

“It’s the only thing,” Jaehyun replies, snapping his jaw shut. “If you want to help at all.”

“Okay,” Doyoung nods, until he believes it. “That’s okay.”

He barely remembers to text Taeyong not to wait up.

 

 

It’s not until a few minutes later, and several blocks down to the tiny late-night cafe he lets Jaehyun lead him in, that Jaehyun circles back to the part he never responded to. Even off the main streets, with quiet clients and minimal windows for which to stare into, Doyoung’s skin is crawling the moment they step inside, a distinct feeling of claustrophobia creeping up his neck.

It’s a small shop, too small, with no alcohol in sight. Though for better or worse it’s shaping up to be the wiser choice to avoid it. The handful of tables it boasts lay occupied, leaving open only armchairs and couches scattered around the perimeter. Doyoung had no idea this place even existed, though it’s a tall order when he can’t even pronounce whatever French is in its name, and it’s probably an advantage of Jaehyun’s youth that he knows the city a little more intimately.

It’s like insult to injury that it makes Doyoung remember he really, really doesn’t get out much.

He’s getting coffee with an ex-patient he might be in love with.

Nothing feels real anymore.

“I don’t know why I need this so much,” Jaehyun admits, right after rattling off Doyoung’s coffee order on his behalf like he does it in his sleep. “I don’t… really know what’s happening right now. I just wanted to ask how you’d been. But then I saw you, and it wasn’t enough. I didn’t plan this part out. I’m not thinking straight.”

Doyoung quirks an eyebrow. “You could be dissociating.”

What Doyoung means to say is that _he’s_ dissociating.

The strangest thing about going insane is how calm and unremarkable it all feels. He’s mindful like he’s never able to be with all the workshops and in-home mediation in the world. The only thing he registers is the color of the walls, the heat radiating from the mug in his hands, and the way Jaehyun’s sweater is a little wrinkled in some places, but it makes it look even better on him. Details like that.

“Good news, you’re not my therapist.” Jaehyun, on the other hand, is very much present. “Don’t know if you knew that or not.”

It’d probably be really thrilling to hear Jaehyun talk back like that if he wasn’t on the receiving end of it. They settle down in a set of two armchairs, the farthest away from the window and tucked into a cozy corner just close enough to the fireplace on the far wall. Doyoung watches five minutes click away on his wristwatch before either of them speak.

“You were going to tell me what you thought,” Jaehyun finally mutters, running his fingernail along the rim of the mug. He ordered something sugary and chocolate-filled, a deviation from the plainer options Doyoung’s seen him go for in the past.

Doyoung just blinks at him, clearing something that caught in his throat. “Is that really what you did this for?”

“No, I’m just holding you to your word. If that’s all I wanted, I would have let you go.”

“I thought you’d have figured it out by now.” Doyoung stares at his hands, dry and red and too long for the rest of him, and talks to them instead of the boy across from him. “I told Kyungsoo to listen to you because I couldn’t say to your face I thought you were incredible.”

Getting something like that off his chest doesn’t feel nearly as freeing as he’d hoped. He still feels just as small. Jaehyun exhales, brushing a strand of hair out of his eyes. “I wanted to hear you say it.”

“You have so much potential,” Doyoung insists. “In so many ways. I know I told you last time, but it’s true.”

“How are you doing, Doyoung? Like, how are you really doing?” Jaehyun can’t be talking at more than a normal indoor volume, but it’s loud enough compared to his last few sentences to take Doyoung off-guard.

The way Jaehyun can flip back and forth between fight or flight is one of the hardest things for Doyoung to wrap his brain around. Doyoung’s work has made so many people predictable to him, but never Jaehyun. Maybe that’s why he likes him so much more than almost anyone else. “What do you mean, how am I really doing?”

Jaehyun sighs, resting his chin in the palm of his hand. “I want you to talk to me like I’m a person. Not a…”

Jaehyun can’t bring himself to say the word, but Doyoung doesn’t need him to. He gets what he means. “You’ve said that more than once.”

“Well, I mean it.” Jaehyun cocks his head to the side, and looks him in the eye for just a brief second before he turns his head back towards the fireplace again. “I don’t want you to give whatever answer will change the subject quicker. I want to know how you’re doing because I care how you’re doing.”

There’s an honest answer he could give. There’s another answer that borders on inappropriate levels of honesty, and yet another that’s easy and requires nothing more than a tight-lipped smile and something in between the truth and a lie. In the end, he chooses none of them. “I’m doing about the same as I always was when you saw me.”

Jaehyun curls up his nose, and in a moment of weakness, Doyoung thinks it’s one of the most adorable things he’s ever seen. “Do you practice non-answers on everyone, or just with me?”

Doyoung smiles and is surprised to feel it’s genuine. “I do this to everyone.”

There’s a small part of him that wants to bite back something harsh, about how this is who he really is. If Jaehyun wants him to talk to him like he’s anyone else he knows, he’s really just signing himself up for the parade of emotional repression, smartass remarks, and unapproachability he rewards those closest to him with. Maybe it’d even be fun, in the horrible way getting to remind someone whom they’re dealing with tends to be.

It’s been like this his whole life. Someone likes him too much, and his first impulse is to remind them why they should really reconsider. Doyoung is confident in a lot of things about himself, his intelligence, his career talents, his sense of humor even if no one else seems to agree… But the details of his personality are deterrents to intimacy, not selling points. He’s just doing others a favor when he argues against himself, or at least that’s what he spent a lot of his youth believing.

WIth Jaehyun, though… At the last moment, he decides to give the boy some credit.

All things considered, Jaehyun already knows.

“I can’t wrap my head around you,” Jaehyun shakes his head, licking a tiny dollop of whipped cream off his lip, and Doyoung loves him. He has to. It’d be scarier to feel this much and have it be anything else. “Every time I think about you too long, I end up believing ten different things that each make less sense than the last. Two hours later, I doubt it all again.”

Doyoung wants to reach his hand across the table and grip Jaehyun’s fingers in his, but he keeps them firm around his mug. “Do you think about me that much?”

“All the time.” Jaehyun looks at him he can’t believe Doyoung has a goddamn Ph.D. and still has the gall to ask something so ridiculous. “Sorry if that’s not what you want to hear.”

There’s nothing he can say that wouldn’t incriminate him one way or the other, and he’s not sure he could stand by either as the truth. “Jaehyun, you’re beautiful. You’re talented, you’re young.”

Jaehyun’s eyes widen, that deer-in-the-headlights sort of panic that turns his knuckles white against his coffee. “Stop. I know where you’re going with this, and stop.”

If he were a better person, maybe he’d listen. But Doyoung’s a man possessed. “You can do better than—”

“Better than you?” Jaehyun interrupts, voice taut and fingers clenching tighter on the handle. “I take it back, I can tell you’re not in therapist mode now. If you were you’d know that won’t work on me.”

Doyoung pinches the bridge of his nose, counting to three as he inhales. “Jaehyun…”

He doesn’t dare look up, but he can feel Jaehyun’s eyes on him, narrowed, tired. “I don’t want anyone else. That’s my fucking problem. I still haven’t found anyone that comes close. I see more in you than I know you see in yourself, and I can’t even show you why. Do you know what that feels like?”

“More than you know,” Doyoung snaps back, before he has the time to filter it out. Jaehyun shrinks back into his seat, but his spine stays rod-straight, and even as Doyoung slumps back down into his own chair, Jaehyun doesn’t relax for a second. He just watches him, barely-restrained tension lacing his every move. “I was going to say better than _this_ , for the record.”

Jaehyun’s a little quieter, but no less precise. “I don’t see the difference.”

Doyoung is of the opinion that one should always break their own heart first. It’s only polite, but more than that, it lessens the damage when the expectations are set low. “You can do better than staying hung up on someone who can never give you what you need.”

It works, this time. Jaehyun exhales, sharp, and recoils back down until he can’t look at Doyoung straight anymore, pulling his drink to his lips and crossing his legs, quiet.

If anything, it hurts more than the alternative. Doyoung still has all his old tricks, but they don’t work the way they used to. Not with Jaehyun.

Knowing he can’t stop himself from getting hurt isn’t even the most terrifying thing. It’s knowing that Jaehyun’s hurt is the cause. Seconds pass in tens before Jaehyun speaks again. “Then help me get over it.”

Doyoung curls his lips upwards, but there’s no humor there. “You made sure that wasn’t my job anymore.”

He can see the exact moment something lights up in Jaehyun’s eyes, not exactly inspiration, but something more like determination. It’s not as much spontaneous as it is strategic, like he’s had a goal in mind this entire time but only just now found the perfect way to implement it. Like he’s gotten the pieces to finally fit. It happens so quickly that Doyoung barely has time to brace himself before Jaehyun’s words are left hanging in the air. “Look me in the eyes and tell me you never felt anything. Tell me it’s just all in my head.”

Getting sucker punched straight in the gut would be preferable to whatever feeling Doyoung’s left with in the wake of that statement. The nausea hits hard and fast, and it’s unforgiving, Doyoung having to steady himself with his hands on the table between them just so he can keep himself from betraying the dizziness in his head, guilt pooling inside his stomach. “Don’t put me in this position. I won’t let you.”

“I know it’s stupid.” It’s the closest thing to begging he’s heard in Jaehyun’s voice all night, maybe ever. “I know it’s ridiculous, trust me, Doyoung. I already know you don’t. I just need to hear it, so I can’t try to convince myself otherwise. Please.”

In a way, it’s the next best thing to an out Jaehyun’s ever given him. It’d be all too easy to just end it right here, right now. All he has to do is lie straight through his teeth, take a deep breath, and give him what he wants. Doyoung never felt a thing. It’s a simple, three step process, and it’s not hard to play back in his head and imagine those words just coming out, simple and clean. _It’s just you, Jaehyun._

The second he turns his head up, just a little, and gets a peek at Jaehyun’s thin arms, his sharp collarbones and tight jaw, all his corners and intricacies… His mind goes blank. Every single moment in his entire life that’s prepared him for this means nothing. The sentence he’d just replayed in his head a second before no longer exists, replaced with alarm bells and a fresh wave of nausea, drowning out all rationality.

This is supposed to be effortless. This is supposed to be his one guarantee. He has to let those words slip, even if they destroy him. Even if he regrets it for the rest of his life. He has to get them both out of this. It’s all on his shoulders. He has to let it end.

Doyoung meets Jaehyun’s eyes, and in the split second where he parts his lips, his heart catches in his throat and he can’t. He can’t. It’s the only truth he knows. No matter how strongly he believed differently, he can’t deny it. There’s nothing left to say. There’s nothing he can command his body to do other than just sit there, silent, resigned.

Jaehyun goes through more emotions in the five seconds it takes him to register the reality of the situation than Doyoung knows how to even identify. He doesn’t want to try. When he reaches equilibrium, his mouth falls open, and only one expression, dread, remains. “Doyoung. Holy shit. You… no, _no_.”

Doyoung slides his focus back towards his hands, but doesn’t dare say a word.

By the time either of them moves again, Doyoung’s half hoping Jaehyun will just walk out. Dealing with that anger would be better than dealing with the silence. Anything would be better than the silence, at this point.

“How long?” Jaehyun asks through his teeth, like it’s physically painful.

“I knew in December,” Doyoung replies, as quiet as he can get away with being. “Subconsciously? Longer than that. I wasn’t trying to push the blame on myself, back then. I was just being honest. Whatever you felt, I egged it on. It’s not self-deprecation, Jaehyun, so don’t start.”

Jaehyun sinks down into his seat, and out of the corner of Doyoung’s eyes, he sees him rub circles into his temple, squeezing his own shut with a sigh. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters once, then again, the second backed by short, humorless laughter. “I swear, you… I should have known.”

Doyoung feels small enough to sneak through the cracks of the hardwood floor and disappear forever, but it’s only a pipe dream, however appealing it seems. “I’m so sorry, Jaehyun.”

“I had an answer for everything,” Jaehyun presses, like Doyoung hasn’t said anything at all. He can feel Jaehyun’s gaze on him again, and slowly, if only for the sake of professionalism, Doyoung lifts his head enough to look in his vague direction. “Every time I started to think we had something, I’d talk myself out of it. Even when I told you how I felt, I had an answer for why you looked like you’d seen a ghost. But all this time, I should have just let myself believe it. That’s insane. You’re insane.”

It’s not Doyoung’s place to complain about salt in the wound, so he doesn’t even consider it. “It should have never been on you to end it.”

“Shut up.” Jaehyun presses the heel of his hand to the bridge of his nose. “Stop saying that.”

“No, this was my _job_ ,” Doyoung insists, louder, something dangerously close to anger sparking inside him. “The one basic guarantee I should have been able to make was to draw that boundary, and I fucked it up. You deserved better from this.”

Doyoung needs Jaehyun to hate him. It’s the only way he’ll forgive himself. If Jaehyun can hate him, it’ll at least mean he didn’t do enough damage to make him somehow think any of this is okay. If Jaehyun storms off now, hell, he might even be able to look himself in the mirror by summer. If not…

Jaehyun brings his hand down on the table, hard and fast. “Will you seriously just shut up for two goddamn seconds?”

It’s loud enough that the patrons around them go quiet, and Doyoung feels dizzy with deja vu. And a whole other host of other emotions, if he’s being honest.

Jaehyun pulls back, his fingers shaking, and for the first time Doyoung notices how flushed he looks still, cheeks pink and eyes wide, like that outburst had been bottled up for way longer than he’d given Jaehyun credit for. Doyoung steadies his breath and obliges, nodding his head and snapping his jaw shut.

“Sorry. I’m sorry,” Jaehyun says, all but tripping over the words in haste. Doyoung counts three breaths, just the way he taught him, before Jaehyun continues. “But if you really think I’m the type of person to base my feelings on whether or not they’re returned, you don’t know me at all.”

“I don’t think that,” Doyoung replies, the air deflating from his lungs. He knows it’s pointless, but he has to say something. Nothing would be so much worse. Jaehyun leans in, and Doyoung keeps himself frozen, hanging on to every word.

“You don’t understand,” Jaehyun shakes his head, and Doyoung doesn’t have anything to argue against that with. Jaehyun leaves a pause, like he’s expecting him to, and it stings. “I’ve been fantasizing about you since the day I first left your office. I wanted you so badly I could barely keep my shit together around you. You’re what got me out of bed on every low day, just to go out and meet person after person I could have had something with if I wasn’t so hung up about wishing it were you in their place. I had every opportunity I’d ever dreamed of a year ago, and all I could do was sit around and think about the one person I couldn’t have. Again, Doyoung, do you even know what that’s like?”

“Yeah, I think I do.” Doyoung enunciates every single word with as much clarity and precision as he’s capable of with how badly his legs are shaking. “I think I know exactly what that’s like.”

“Then you know,” Jaehyun licks his lips, breathless. When did he get this close? “Then you know I wouldn’t have just given it up. You could have held me five feet away from you at all times with surgical gloves and I still would have gotten off to screwing you in my shower every morning. Fuck, I don’t know. Just get off your self-righteous high-horse and listen to me, _please_.”

“You can’t know,” Doyoung protests, but from the look in his eye he knows Jaehyun can tell how weak it sounds. “You can’t know how you would have felt if I hadn’t reciprocated.”

He expects Jaehyun to lash out again, but instead, he just squares his shoulders, tightens his jaw, and nods once. “You’re right. I can’t. But it’s all hypothetical at this point, because this is how it went down, and this is what I’m dealing with.”

For some reason, the truth of it only hits Doyoung right as he says it. “Neither of us moved on.”

Jaehyun hums, his eyes closed again. “I guess not.”

Doyoung doesn’t know what to say to that anymore. The one thing he’s trusted all his life are his words, and now that they’re failing him, he doesn’t have any defenses left. Just his luck. All of it’s just his luck.

It doesn’t feel like clarity at all. Not a single part of him feels relief. Instead, it’s just numb. Maybe he’s known all of it deep down for so long he doesn’t have it in him to react to it anymore, and that’s the worst twist of all.

From the way Jaehyun’s looking at anything but him, his lips pressed in a tight line, Doyoung would wager a guess he’s not alone in that feeling.

It’s Jaehyun that breaks the silence, turning his phone face-up on the table and checking the time with a frown. “It’s almost ten. They’ll be closing soon.”

He says it casually, like it doesn’t affect them in the least. Doyoung envies how good he is at that. “Oh. Well, then.”

“We can talk on the way,” Jaehyun offers, digging at a spec of dirt under his nail. Doyoung doesn’t have the heart to ask where that way is, so instead he just nods and swallows his pride yet again as he lets Jaehyun take the lead.

Doyoung finishes off the rest of his drink, though it’s lukewarm by this point, and waits as Jaehyun does the same. There’s barely any left in his. He expects this quiet to be awkward, or at least tense with the weight of it all just like moments before, but it’s not. It just feels like two men finishing up their coffee excursion, and the normalcy frightens him. After all they’ve said, Jaehyun still feels so natural at his side, more than anyone in his position should be allowed to. When he thinks about it, that’s been the problem all along. Jaehyun feels right, but Doyoung knows better.

He’s so tired of this.

Out in the cold of the night again, Jaehyun sticks his hands in his pockets, rocks back and forth on his heels, and faces Doyoung with his bottom lip between his teeth, back pressed up against the side alley that makes up a non-windowed wall of the shop. Doyoung just stays on the sidewalk, watching him out of the corner of his eye with caution, but doesn’t attempt to walk past him.

“I’m not an idiot,” Jaehyun says, almost defensively. Doyoung shakes his head before he can start.

“I know you’re not.” Doyoung’s still shivering, but it’s not as cold as the forecast said it would be by this time, from what he can tell. There’s one bright spot, at least. He always has considered himself an optimist.

“I get it. I’m putting you in a way worse situation than I’m putting myself in,” Jaehyun shrugs, staring up at one of the marquees that line down the rest of the street. “It doesn’t make it better, I know that. But I read the laws and everything. I did my research.”

Jaehyun shrinks back, like he’s convinced admitting that makes him look more like a child than ever. As far as Doyoung’s concerned, it’s not childish as much as it is just sort of human. His chest clenches from fondness before contorting into good, old-fashioned anxiety. “The laws are just what’s written down. Almost everything is up to discretion in reality. Some would consider meeting you just to talk about the weather indefensible.”

“For others, though, it’s all pretty case by case, isn’t it?” Jaehyun’s eyes are wide, and he’s looking at him now, unflinching and square in the face. Doyoung almost feels like he’ll disappear completely if he dares to look away. This time, the innocent, quiet way he talks does make him feel his age. “I’d say everything I just said to you in front of anyone. You never once tried to push me towards this. Someone else in your place could have had a predatory angle, sure, but I would have seen through it in a heartbeat. I can take care of myself, and more importantly, Doyoung, you did everything you could. You would have done anything to avoid this.”

He’s seeing stars behind his eyes every time he closes them, and it’s hard to hold his balance up against nothing. But he doesn’t move. “I’d lose everything.”

“You might,” Jaehyun admits, pure and simple. “You know that better than me, I can’t promise you anything. If you want, I can just call Johnny whenever. We both have the truth out there now, so if that’s enough for you, then it’s enough for me. I’m not going to beg you to do something that could destroy you, I’m not a monster.”

Doyoung rests his head on the corner of the wall; separating him and Jaehyun by several feet across yet not far enough that he can’t feel the warmth of his breath, close but never too close. It’s just so he can see straight again, that’s all. Jaehyun stares at him, brows furrowed as he hangs to every word with his full attention. “Then what are you trying to say to me?”

He realizes just a second too late it might just be intentional on Jaehyun’s part that he brings himself down to a whisper, knowing it will force Doyoung to lean in out of reflex. But in the moment, it feels genuine, like Jaehyun really can’t say it any louder than he’s already struggling to. “I would do everything I could. I’d take on whatever responsibility I need to, I have nothing to lose by arguing a case. We tried to make it work, hyung.”

Doyoung searches his face for something that would show any signs of uncertainty, but all he finds is the same resolve that’s been on Jaehyun’s face all night, all the months of research and thinking and deciding etched into a hard line across his eyes. Doyoung feels like he’s aged twenty years in an hour, easy. “That’s dangerously naive, Jaehyun.”

“I just want you to know how serious I’m willing to take this. Meet me wherever you can.”

Doyoung forces the words between tiny gaps in his teeth, keeping his jaw clenched around it. “I think you should go.”  
  
“You don’t want me too.” Jaehyun sees straight through him, but Doyoung’s starting to suspect part of him, at least deep down, has all along. “And know I’m only asking this because I care, but hyung, what are you going to do about that?”

“I’ll figure it out.” His face is really, really close. It’d feel awkward if he backed up, but he knows even in the moment that it’s all in his head. “I was doing that before, plan on continuing that after. Don’t worry about me.”

“Trust me, I wish.” Jaehyun rakes a hand back through his hair, shakes his head, and shrugs. “I don’t know you half as well as you know me, I get that. I don’t know what’s good for you. But I’d rather not stand here all night waiting on the answer. Not sure I have the stamina.”

Doyoung purses his lips, and says nothing. It takes Jaehyun a while, but he stutters into another sentence, thrown off by the quiet. “I think you deserve to be happy, whatever that is. If keeping me around in this kind of situation won’t make that happen, then I’ll go. I get it.”

If he were in therapist mode, finding an answer to that would be easy. He’d just mutter something about catch-22s and oversimplified false equivalences, or maybe about how it’s unfair to try and play someone’s emotions that way and that he should stray away from it in the future, thanks. Even just a few weeks ago, it’d be so easy to bite out something sarcastic and pretend like it doesn’t affect him at all, like, _Self-destruction always makes me happy, Jaehyun,_ or some other sly way to say that sometimes he’s afraid nothing really makes him happy without unethically switching their roles.

It’s a moot point, though. Even when nothing else does, Jaehyun’s made him happy, time and time again. If he was going to wax philosophic to himself about ethics, that train’s long gone. Besides, he doesn’t have the luxury of using his position as a shield anymore. He’s just a man stuck between a rock and a hard place with way too much knowledge of human psychology and the worst timing on God’s green earth.

If Jaehyun walks away, he keeps his career without the paranoia, and will just continue to cling to the hope that even at his age, someone else will come along. Someone without rough hands and a sharp tongue and deadly vocal chords to match, someone with the good sense to not do this to him. Maybe he won’t need anyone after a while. Considering his current stance on wanting anyone else besides Jaehyun, the latter seems more likely. That’d be nice.

If he doesn’t, well, there’s only two real ways this could realistically play out. In the version Doyoung has to be prepared for, the rest of his office flips shit and he loses his job, if not his license in the statistically significant worst-case scenario. At best, the rest of his office thinks he’s absolutely insane, and look at him in a different light until enough time passes that they start to accept he’s still the same person, still the same doctor, underneath all of his half-baked excuses. Timeframe indefinite.

He’s thought about it a lot. More than he ever would want to admit to anyone. After hours and hours weighing the two scenarios, he’s still not sure which is worse.

Realistically, Doyoung knows himself. No matter who comes and goes, maybe he’ll never be able to shake the idea that if he walks away, he’ll never know what would have happened if he’d stayed. It’s easy to imagine, and it hits too close for comfort how real the image is—him, laying on his bed, wondering what his life would look like if he’d said yes, how he’d feel if one day someone else ended up in Doyoung’s position and no one blinked an eye, knowing they could have gotten away with it. How his memory would splice Jaehyun into the smile of every man who caught Doyoung’s eye at the bar.

Jaehyun would remain in his orbit, but nothing more than a stranger, averting his eyes, talking to Taeyong like he’s a complete ghost at his side. He’d move on faster than Doyoung, taking some other boy to his shows after shaking him off like a bad cold. The curiosity over whether or not any of that would even be true would have to go unanswered in silence. All the while, every migraine would be punctuated with the droning chorus of _what if, what if, what if_ against his skull. Timeframe indefinite.

He’s been repeatedly, inexcusably shitty at letting things go.

Doyoung parts his lips, but something in his expression sours Jaehyun’s own, and he just shakes his head. “Goodnight, Doyoung.”

His eyebrows are etched together, pained and steeled, and the idea of that being the last emotion Doyoung sees reflected back on him is too much for him to let slide. His body moves without him, and just as Jaehyun spins around on his heel, Doyoung reaches out to dig his fingers into his shoulder. It’s meant to be light, just enough to get his attention, but it sends Jaehyun staggering back into the wall. Doyoung forgets to let go in time not to follow, catching himself with one hand next to Jaehyun’s head on the brick and the other still on his arm, matching him up toe to toe.

“Shit, sorry,” Doyoung hisses, ignoring the cold air through his fingers the second he pulls them off Jaehyun, letting his arm fall to his side. He’s less successful at ignoring the way Jaehyun’s looking at him, eyes wide but not out of surprise, more like he’s trying to memorize what he’s seeing. Against his best judgment, Doyoung lets him, inhaling steady through his nose. He doesn’t know what to say, so he just repeats himself, muttering to no one in particular. “I’m sorry.”

Doyoung counts three more exhales before Jaehyun blinks. It’s so graceful and measured Doyoung barely even notices he’s moving beyond that at all, only registering his arm is no longer glued to the wall when Jaehyun’s hand falls on Doyoung’s face, cold enough to make him flinch. Jaehyun doesn’t seem deterred, though, and Doyoung doesn’t think he could move if he tried, frozen in place as Jaehyun’s fingers trace his jawline, his cheekbones, ghosting over his eyelids when he blinks, up to his forehead where he brushes a strand of hair back behind his ear. His thoughts are just white noise, out the window the second he felt skin to skin, completely monopolized by the task of registering his own senses.

Jaehyun meets his eyes, but the question he’s sending him doesn’t register. But he knows that look, and knows he’s supposed to understand it. So he just nods, once, just subtle enough to be noticed from the inches away Jaehyun’s standing. Satisfied, Jaehyun lets his eyes flutter closed, traces his thumb over the curve of Doyoung’s lips, stopping only when his own take its place.

Jaehyun makes no move to open his mouth, so neither does Doyoung, but despite their position, there’s nothing chaste about his intentions. He hesitates just long enough for him to realize Doyoung isn’t going to push him away, because God, he doesn’t know how, before he moves his hand to the back of Doyoung’s neck and pulls him in, pressing in and clinging like he can’t get deep in enough, needy and just a little desperate. But Doyoung’s attempts to deepen the kiss itself are met with resistance, Jaehyun shifting to catch Doyoung’s lower lip between his every time they move against each other and nothing more. The mix of calculation and passion forces him into a rhythm he doesn’t know how to match, so he just follows, only moving when Jaehyun moves, only kissing when Jaehyun kisses.

If Jaehyun’s trying to make everything a hundred times worse, it’s working. Every part of him aches, even as he finds a hand moving to his hip, another to the side of Jaehyun’s own face. The worst part, though, is that Doyoung knows he’s not. The fact that it hurts this much is his own problem. He knows Jaehyun well enough to know what he’s doing. He’s trying to commit this to memory—it’s not out of desire, it’s an analysis, his attempt to map how he feels pressed against him, the contours of his body up against his.

Doyoung’s not nearly as good at it, not nearly as thorough, but he takes advantage of the time to at least try and do the same, even if his focus shatters every time he can feel Jaehyun’s chest rise and fall. He’s not one to catalogue, anyway. All he needs is the memory of it. The specifics have always been secondary. But he knows for Jaehyun, it matters. So he lets him do what he needs, for however long he needs it.

It buys him time, either way.

It lasts too long not to hurt when it’s over, and even when Jaehyun pulls back, it’s only far enough to talk, one arm still looped around his neck, cheeks flushed, lips red, and eyes fixed on nothing but him, unflinching. Doyoung’s not nearly prepared for the ice in his voice. “Thanks for indulging me.”

“Wait.” Keeping with the spirit of the extended out of body experience known as his life, his brain doesn’t have a chance in hell to beat the aching desperation in his chest in the race to just say something, anything the second he starts to pull away. “Don’t leave, not yet.”

Jaehyun looks at him, and where Doyoung expects relief, there’s just caution. A little bit of hope, of course, but it’s still guarded. It’s fine. It’s better that way, even. He holds his breath when Jaehyun talks. “Alright. I won’t.”

 

 

_Does it ever get kind of lonely?_

Gongmyung is the master of statements that say one thing and mean about five more. It’s because he’s an actor, he says. Or something. He’d brought it up the first time Doyoung showed him around his current flat about a year and a half ago, before any pleasantries about the décor or location, naturally. Doyoung knows better than to take anything he says at face value. It’s a statement on the whole living alone thing, sure. But it’s more than that.

It was about pushing himself through semester upon semester of course overload fueled only by spite. It was about pushing away anyone who cared about him just so he wouldn’t have to take time out of his day to decline social invitations that would inevitably conflict with an internship, or a lab-write up, or his pre-scheduled stress crying. It was about not even being able to relate to his ambition-fueled peers, because it wasn’t ever about being the best, it was about keeping himself busy to the point he couldn’t even question whether or not he was personally miserable. Even the only real adult relationship he held onto for any extended period of time was borne out of academic misery. Of course it gets fucking lonely.

It’s all things he’s heard before from Gongmyung, but through the years, he got tired of saying it, and Doyoung got tired of hearing it. So it gets condescend into passive aggression, to which Doyoung just kind of shrugged, threw his brother’s suitcase in the corner, and muttered for him to shove it up his ass.

He expects Jaehyun to maybe say something similar, for no real logical reason other than it’d feel fitting. Or maybe that’s just what Doyoung wants him to say, because when Jaehyun just mumbles that it’s nice under his breath, Doyoung doesn’t do him the courtesy of pretending he didn’t hear it.

“I sacrificed a lot to get one with a balcony,” Doyoung quips, dry and flat. It’s not clear whether or not Jaehyun gets the point, he’s busy scanning the entryway in barely-concealed approval either way.

Jaehyun hums, watching Doyoung unlace his boots and prop them up by the door before following suit with his own, staring at his feet as he talks. “How long have you lived here?”

He’s half in his mind not to answer it, because it seems absurd to have nothing more than idle chatter. It’d make Jaehyun feel too much like anyone else if he lets them give into that awkward, but necessary banter to fill the silence when bringing someone over for the first time. Doyoung assumes, anyway. It’s been a while.

But everything in the past few minutes has felt too normal, ever since the tension in the alleyway broke and he found himself shivering again. Jaehyun asked where they wanted to go, and Doyoung’s exhaustion and impulsivity broke down the last of his will to ashes. It felt so clear. Impulsivity really does feel so nice, when you let it.

In truth, it wasn’t his first choice to bring him here. It just sort of happened. One foot in front of the other for ten minutes and they were on the corner of his apartment block when Jaehyun pulled his sweater down and muttered they’d been out in the cold too long. And, well, the solution to the problem was right there.

It wasn’t like it was planned, anyway. Doyoung was halfway through the third street block when he finally gathered up the nerve to ask where they were going.

Jaehyun just hummed, and while staring at his feet offered, _Not home._

Well, Doyoung figured he might as well follow directions. It was too late for anything relevant to them to be open now, and considering the last thing Doyoung needed was a bar at this point, Doyoung’s body just took them to the one place he really knew where to go. He didn’t even realize where he was going until it was too late, and if Jaehyun noticed which way they were going or what the nervous hole Doyoung was chewing in his cheek meant, he didn’t say a word. Not one. Not even as Doyoung waved his key in front of the automatic lock to his apartment building or in the elevator up to his floor. They were silent, the elephant in the room sucking most of the air out of their space. But now, he’s commenting on his house.

In the end, Doyoung gives him an answer. Giving in is all too easy after the first time. “Since just after Taeyong and I broke up, so a little over a year.”

Jaehyun looks at him out of the corner of his eye, nodding and burying whatever emotion peaks beneath his mask faster than Doyoung can read it. “So you _were_ with him.”

Doyoung grimaces, peeling off his jacket, draping it over one of hooks and stifling a sigh. Jaehyun just hovers in the entryway, eyes following Doyoung’s every step. “Is it that obvious?”

“I wouldn’t say obvious,” he shrugs, crossing his ankles. “But knowing both of you, it wasn’t that hard of a guess.”

“It’s a little too big for me,” Doyoung decides it’s better to just ignore that statement. “The place we lived together was about half this size. I think I went a little too far trying to compensate.”

It isn’t all that big, really. The entryway splits off left into a living area and the right into a well-condensed kitchen and dining area, straight ahead nothing more than a bedroom, a small bathroom, and a walk-in closet. It’s fitting of his budget, if on the more modest end, but Doyoung doesn’t need to be as good at he is at this to know Jaehyun’s only ever dreamed of living somewhere like this. It’s not in his best interest to be modest, and either way, it’s not a lie.

He and Taeyong made do with 450 square feet for years because any space to keep their hands off each other was an inconvenience. Now, Doyoung shares over a thousand with nothing but his cat Oscar, and even he’s been commandeered for the weekend by Taeyong to keep him company while Yuta’s out of town. Jaehyun’s presence somehow makes it feel comfortable, like he’s not being suffocated.

That doesn’t keep him from feeling like a stranger to his own home, though, crossing aimlessly into the center of the living area like his feet have forgotten the layout. Jaehyun takes a step inside, stops, and Doyoung sees the gears spinning until Jaehyun sighs and makes his way over to Doyoung’s side. “It’s nice, though. I like it.”

_I like you_ , is what Doyoung wants to say, but he bites it back. “Thank you.”

A few seconds tick by before Doyoung notices Jaehyun’s too busy staring out the full-panel glass door to register he’s said anything in reply at all, and Doyoung smiles to himself as he moves over to pull back the curtains, opening up the view of the balcony and the streets below. In the quiet, Jaehyun just looks, unassuming and soft, the streetlights reflecting back into his face. Doyoung hopes he doesn’t notice the shake in his legs.

The time passes into minutes like that. At first, it’s nice. Before long, it starts to itch.

Jaehyun’s digging at the dirt under his fingernails, and Doyoung starts to panic, the realization that neither of them know how to proceed hitting him with all the force and subtlety of a brick. “You can call Johnny whenever you want, by the way. I just thought it would be nicer to wait somewhere warm. Help yourself out to whatever you want in the meantime.”

If Jaehyun doesn’t want to be here, then all the caution he has or hasn’t exercised up to this point is completely out the window. At first, it’s just a precaution, a safeguard in case Jaehyun’s looking for an out and doesn’t know how to say it, but by the end of the sentence it’s beginning to crush him. Jaehyun was never informed, never consented. This line was crossed with nothing backing him up, not even an assumption that it would be okay. If Jaehyun feels uncomfortable, he’s ruined it. All of it. He should never have done this, what the fuck is he thinking? What was he thinking this entire night? He should kick him out now, kick all of this to the curb, spare the both of them, scrap the entire situation—

“Are you saying you want me to leave?” Jaehyun raises his eyebrows, and Doyoung hates how natural he’s starting to look in his house, the lost vibe he was carrying earlier no longer clinging to him as he leans on the wall between the entryway and the bedroom like he’s been here a million times. His heart catches in his throat.

“I just don’t want you to think that I want something from you, or that I have any specific intentions.” Doyoung can hear his voice hitch on every other word, and it’s enough that he knows Jaehyun can pick up on it. The anxiety is pushing up against his ribcage, his hand on the wall barely keeping his vision from spinning. “I don’t even know what I mean by you being here, other than…”

He drifts off, and he can feel Jaehyun’s stare boring into his skull even as Doyoung focuses on a light out the window. It burns, but he’s determined to wait him out, the vague sense of accomplishment hollow even as Jaehyun clears his throat. “Other than…?”

“That I don’t want you out of my life,” Doyoung rushes through every word without a space, quiet enough he’s shocked that Jaehyun nods like he heard it. “I don’t have anything to say between the lines. Trust me.”

“You can’t want something from me that I wouldn’t just to give you, though.” Jaehyun shakes his head, and Doyoung’s relieved to see him smile, even if he doesn’t understand it. “I know you can’t just not freak out, I get it. But how many times do I need to say I want this from you?”

This was a terrible idea.

The proximity is already too much—maybe it was the open air or the tension of the moment, but now that both are gone, he’s hyperaware of every inch of space Jaehyun’s body takes up in his house, and even more of the space between them. Doyoung’s always been able to have control over what he wants, or at the very least shove it down hard enough to ignore—which amounts to more or less the same thing as far as he’s concerned—but with Jaehyun, it’s hard enough to just keep his thoughts together. Even then, every coherent idea is interrupted with fantasies he’s been trying to suppress for months—Jaehyun’s hand up his shirt, Jaehyun’s back against his mattress, Jaehyun’s clothes spread out on his floor…

The idea that he could feel even half as strong is still insane.

“I don’t know if it’ll ever be enough.” Doyoung blinks and Jaehyun’s sitting on the piano bench just a few paces from him, elbows folded over his knees and back up against the key cover. It hurts knowing it’s still too early to reach out for him. “I have to know what you want and don’t want in words. I need to make sure that’s always what I’m doing. I can’t just run off of that assumption and stay sane at the same time.”

“I want to stay,” Jaehyun says, short and matter-of-fact.

“Okay,” Doyoung swallows, closing and opening his eyes slow. “Okay.”

Jaehyun’s unflinching, and Doyoung feels weaker by the second, an overwhelming fondness digging a hole in his chest. “If you’d rather I go, that’s fine. That’s your right. But don’t do it just because you feel guilty, or whatever else is going on in your head. If it’s up to me, let me be here with you, please.”

Doyoung’s smart enough to know it’s really not the time, but he still has to say it while it’s genuine, while it’s in the moment. “You’ve really changed a lot since we’ve met, you know.”

“You still change the subject too much.” Jaehyun thinks he’s funnier than anyone but Doyoung finds him, probably.

“I just know saying something like that would have been all but impossible at first,” Doyoung shrugs, and Jaehyun’s face softens a little in the dark. “I don’t know how it reflects on me that I’m the one on the receiving end of what I taught you.”

Jaehyun turns his head to the side and whispers, “Do you ever stop talking?”

Doyoung lowers his eyes, sheepish, and Jaehyun just holds out a hand. “Come here.”

In the back of his mind, Doyoung realizes he should think this over, weigh his options. But he lets his own slide into Jaehyun’s without a second thought, and before he can entertain it at all Jaehyun’s folding their hands together, on his feet again with their chests almost touching. Jaehyun wraps his fingers around Doyoung’s. “I missed you.”

That’s all it takes.

Doyoung doesn’t know who leans in first, but all that matters is he’s kissing Jaehyun, hard, his hand on the back of Doyoung’s neck and the other digging into the fabric of his shirt, frantic and just a little messy. He lets himself get pushed back into the wall when Jaehyun catches his balance forward, parting his lips and breathing him in, the sides of Jaehyun’s face in his palms, and he missed him so fucking much.

He wants to say it back, he needs Jaehyun to know how he thought about him every single day, but he’s got his lips between Jaehyun’s teeth and it’s a worse thought to pull back. So he just hopes that the desperation he’s putting into every touch sends a clear enough message. He didn’t even realize what the itching feeling of uncertainty clouding him since they’d left was, but now he’s allowed, it seems so obvious. His entire relationship with Jaehyun was built on touch, on tactile recognition and physical intricacy—all the talking in the world can’t feel as natural as this, Jaehyun moving against him, his tongue on the back of his teeth, chest to chest.

Before Jaehyun, kissing was just a stepping stone professionally, and a prelude personally. Maybe it used to be something he cared about more, but he can’t remember, especially not when it feels like something he’s never even done before when it’s with Jaehyun. He’s never had someone who appreciates it so much, who clings to this stage like it’s the most important part of intimacy. At first, Doyoung figured it might just be because Jaehyun finds it safe, but now, outside of that context, Doyoung’s convinced it’s really just because he likes it. That, and there’s history—they’ve done it more together than anything, and even if Jaehyun doesn’t care, it hangs heavy in Doyoung’s chest. He loves that Jaehyun loves it. He loves that he wants to do it with him.

It’s scary how much it feels like a missing piece sliding back into the picture. He doesn’t know what to do about it except for cling harder and draw him in closer, even though there’s no space between them left to erase. Jaehyun sighs into his mouth as he traces a hand to the small of his back. It lasts long enough for Doyoung to forget how it even began, or at least have nothing more than a hazy side thought, and by the time Jaehyun finally pulls away, he has to blink in the surroundings again, like he’s just walked in the door.

Jaehyun has his head cocked a little to the side, studying him like he’s weighing his options. “You aren’t… You can do this without treating me like your case, right?”

Doyoung stifles a sigh, letting Jaehyun’s arm drape against his shoulder. “I haven’t been for a while. What’s required of me is probably too similar to how I always am.”

Jaehyun nods once, short and fast. “Alright. That’s what I thought.” His eyes soften, but there’s not an ounce of vulnerability there. “I guess I still don’t realize just how out of line you actually were. But I’m starting to get it.”

“I still have time to decide I’m not okay with this,” Doyoung means it to be serious, but no matter how firm he tries to make himself sound, it still ends up feeling half-hearted. Heat rises in his face, and he lowers his voice out of instinct. “I just always thought you deserve to feel comfortable, like what you want is was valid. I should have seen this coming when I realized I wanted to be the one to do that.”

He’d normally never admit it. As soon as it’s gone, he has no idea why in the Hell he would until he looks at the quiet sort of appraisal in Jaehyun’s eyes and, oh, yeah, that’s why. He’d laugh at himself if it wouldn’t ruin all sorts of moments, so he just shrugs. Jaehyun matches that emotion, whatever it is, sighing, “Yeah, well. I came back every week.”

“Look where it got you,” Doyoung leans into Jaehyun’s hand on the back of his neck, not used the idea that he doesn’t have to hide his reactions, measure out his feeling. He still does it out of instinct, not quite melting into the way his thumb is rubbing circles against the top of his spine despite the urge. Doyoung catches the clock at his bedside, gnawing at the inside of his cheek. “It’s later than I thought.”

Jaehyun ignores him completely, softening the tone of his voice. “What do you want, Doyoung?”

He has a snappy retort on the tip of his tongue, but the vulnerability of the situation strikes it down before he can put it into words. “That’s a broad question.”

Jaehyun smiles, just smug enough to bother him but not enough to make him actually care. “Not so fun being on the other side of that, is it?”

He could debate whether or not he’ll let it happen, but it’d only be for show. If he had any intentions of doing that once the decision was placed in his hands, Jaehyun wouldn’t even be here. Hell, they probably wouldn’t have met tonight at all. Maybe there’d be an argument to make about how showing hesitation would heighten the need for intentional consent on Jaehyun’s part, but in Doyoung’s unprofessional opinion, that’s stupid.

Jaehyun’s here, with no intention of running, knee in between Doyoung’s thighs and nothing but expectation on his face. Whatever bullshit pros-and-cons chart he’d draw up would be for his own sake, and despite the danger of how badly he wants this, he doesn’t need it. He’s done his time. It’s late, he’s tired, and he’s done everything he could.

He’s done everything, and he’s out of excuses.

In place of anything he could say, Doyoung just leans over and kisses him again, feeling Jaehyun smile against his lips before giving in. He’ll let Jaehyun feel like it’s a victory. He probably owes him that much.

Jaehyun doesn’t let it last too long, though, indulging him only for a second before he pulls back, something more serious in his expression than before. “I’m serious, Doyoung. I need to know. I trust you, but I have to hear it.”

More than anything before, this feels like an admission of defeat—the truth he’s been holding in, even after all the others. It’s not as hard to say as he thought it would be, staring at the ceiling weeks ago indulging impossible daydreams or on the walk here. But he can still barely hear it in his own ears. “You, Jaehyun. That’s all.”

Doyoung lets himself meet Jaehyun’s eyes and he sees where this is going. He knows.

He’ll let it happen.

 

*

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was gonna have another sex scene, but I decided that ultimately, it feels more cohesive and natural without it. I'll do a separate PWP installment in the series later... Someone hold me to my word on twitter. And curiouscat. And every available channel, really. I've been planning to elaborate on the 'weird wax thing' line re: Doyoung and Taeyong's past relationship, too, so things to look forward to if time permits.
> 
> Thanks everyone for being so patient. Real life... happened, as it does to grown adults, which I guess I am or whatever. Almost three months is a long (ass) time to wait for something, especially when I was getting a chapter to you every two weeks earlier on. So thank you to everyone who's stuck around! I hope the wait is worth it. 
> 
> I had a blast writing this, and in many ways it felt like a culmination of a lot of things I've wanted to do for a long time, so shout out to NCT for getting me inspired enough to make it happen. If y'all enjoy this half as much as I did, I'll consider it a victory.
> 
> HUGE thank you to everyone who was there to look over every scene in real time, who endured my constant DMs with google doc links, who sat around listening to me whine about the process, etc, etc. You know who you are. Thank you also to everyone who's taken the time to comment or send me a message, anything. This wouldn't exist without that support. 
> 
> Most importantly, thanks for making it to the end. Signing off for now.


End file.
